mfiz  MASTER 
oftifc  HOUSE 


EDGAIC  JAM 


EDWARD  MARSHAL 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


SHE  THREW    HER    HEAD    BACK    SCORNFULLY.    "YOU    HUMILIATE    ME   BEFORE 

EVERY  ONE!'!  Frontispiece  p.  316 


THE   MASTER   OF 
THE  HOUSE 

A  Story  of  Modern  American  Life 


ADAPTED      FROM      THE      PLAY     OF 

EDGAR  JAMES 

BY 

EDWARD    MARSHALL 


ILLUSTRATIONS    FROM 
SCENES    IN    THE    PLAY 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1913 ,  Bf 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


The  Master  of  the  House 


FS 

3  S3. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

MM 

She  threw  her  head  back  scornfully.    "You  humiliate  me  before 

every  onel" Frontispiece  316 

"Mrs.  Hoffman,  let  me  tell  you  now,  this  minute,  I  won't  take 

any  orders  from  that — person." no 

"You've  drawn  the  strings  into  a  hard  knot." 150 

Hoffman  saw  with  indignation  and  surprise 156 

"No  one  shall  take  you  from  me!"       218 

"You  don't  understand  me  and  you  have  never  understood  me! "  226 

"Husbands  never  want  to  hear  the  truth." 237 

"I've  done  with  you.  .  .  .  Go!" 333 


94C711 


The  Master  of  the  House 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  slim  girl  stood  on  the  model's  platform, 
looking  angrily  at  the  gray-whiskered,  stolid 
painter  who  observed  her  without  much  ap 
proval. 

"Bettina,"  he  said,  almost  angrily,  "you're  trying^ 
to  be  knock-kneed.  For  God's  sake  treat  the  legs  He 
gave  you  with  respect.  Suppose  they  stayed  bent !" 

"I  hate  it !"  was  her  answer,  evidently  meaning  that 
she  disliked  posing. 

"Then  why  don't  you  quit  it?  I'm  using  you  only 
for  your  own  sake.  I  don't  want  to  see  you  hungry. 
I'd  much  rather  have  a  blonde  nymph — please  be  sure 
of  that!" 

She  looked  at  him  with  hot  wrath  in  her  eyes. 

"I  mustn't  wink,  I  mustn't  yawn,  I  mustn't  stretch 
a  leg " 

"Not  when  you  know  that  at  that  very  moment  I 
am  studying  that  leg,"  he  ventured.  "You  do  it  to 
annoy  me." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  not  human,  eh  ?  Do  you  think 
I'm  made  of  wood?"  Bettina  had  a  temper,  plainly, 
which  was  not  made  of  anything  like  wood. 

He  let  the  hand  which  held  his  palette  drop  help 
lessly  before  him,  and  his  maul-stick  clattered  to  the 

5 


6  THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  let  you  keep  on  posing  for 
me.  If  I  don't,  why,  you'll  be  posing  for  some  of 
the  young  fellows,  and  then  God  knows  what  will 
happen." 

"You're  a  mere  beast.  I'll  never  pose  for  you 
again."  She  swept  her  scornful  eyes  about  the  studio. 
"Dirt,  and  poverty,  and  temper!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Give  me  my  money!" 

"What  will  your  mother  say  to  you?"  he  faltered. 
Evidently  he  regretted  his  impetuous  decision  to  have 
done  with  her  and,  as  evidently,  he  regretted  it  far 
•more  on  her  account  than  on  his  own.  "She'll  be 
angry  and  blame  you." 

"Beast!" 

He  slipped  the  money  back  into  his  pocket.  "You'd 
better  come  again  to-morrow,  but  try  not  to  break 
the  pose  when  you  know  I'm  working  nicely." 

"Give  me  my  money.  I'll  not  come  again.  Mother 
may  say  exactly  what  she  pleases.  Anyway,  she  sends 
half  the  money  I  make  to  Arthur.  He  doesn't  have 
to  work." 

"The  damned  young  gambling  rascal!"  The  old 
man's  soft,  big  heart  was  touched.  "Poor  child!"  said 
he,  his  anger  gone. 

"Don't  'poor  child'  me ;  give  my  money  to  me." 

"No,  come  again  to-morrow.    I'll  try  to  stand  it." 

"Give  me  my  money." 

"No;  I  won't."    He  shook  his  head. 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  with  bent  head 
and  flashing  eyes,  even  angrier  than  she  had  been. 
"You  won't  ?  I  think  you  will !  Haven't  I  earned  it  ? 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE  9 

Well,  I'll  have  it!  If  you  don't  give  it  to  me  I  think 
I  know  some  one  who  will  come  and  get  it  for  me. 
I  think  I  know  some  one." 

He  laughed,  but  she  had  roused  his  wrath  again. 
"You  mean  that  crazy  young  pianist  ?  Send  him  here. 
I've  had  no  lunch.  I'd  like  to — eat  him  up!" 

"You'd  not  eat  Theodore!  Theodore  Sevigny's 
not  the  kind  to  let  an  old,  gray-whiskered  artist  eat 
him  up — an  old,  gray-whiskered  artist  with  egg  upon 
his  shirt-front,  who  tries  to  beat  a  model  out  of  her 
two  dollars!" 

Two  details  of  this  speech  distressed  the  painter: 
one  was  the  implication  that  he  possibly  could  stoop 
to  cheating  a  poor  model,  and  the  other  was  the  state 
ment  that  egg  spots  were  upon  his  shirt-front.  When 
he  looked  down,  in  affright,  and  actually  saw  yellow 
stains,  he  was  undone.  Without  another  word  he 
passed  the  crumpled  bank-note  to  her. 

"My  God!    I'll  never  eat  another  egg!" 

"And  I  hope  you'll  never  try  to  cheat  another  girl !" 

"Bettina!" 

"Call  me  'Miss  Curtis/    Don't  you  dare  to " 

She  had  gone  across  the  wide  old  room  and  passed 
behind  a  second  screen — handsome,  if  even  shabbier 
than  its  fellow  behind  which  she  had  dressed.  It  was 
angled  at  the  door  to  hide  the  room's  interior  from 
such  as,  knocking  upon  business,  might  otherwise  have 
looked  in  when  the  door  was  opened. 

"The  door  is  locked!" 

The  artist  laughed.  "Come  back  and  sit  down, 
then,  till  the  hour  that  you've  been  paid  for  is  quite 


10    THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE 

up  ...  Quite  ...  up  ...  It  will  give  your  tem 
per  time  to  cool ;  and,  anyway,  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

She  shook  the  door  with  vicious  wrath. 

"It's  locked — and  strong,"  he  counseled. 

"Beast !    Come  here !    Unlock  it !" 

"I'm  not  going  to.  I'm  smoking."  He  sank  into 
a  chair  and  lit  his  pipe.  "You'll  have  to  stay.  You 
might  as  well  come  back  here  and  sit  down." 

After  more  futile  shaking  at  the  door  and  ten  min 
utes  on  her  feet,  she  did  as  he  suggested,  for  she 
really  was  tired.  But  she  did  not  look  at  him,  or 
speak  to  him. 

She  made  a  very  charming  picture  as  she  flung  her 
self  into  the  shabby  rocker  which  he  had  swung  into 
position  for  her.  Her  wrath  had  doubled,  but  she  was 
dumb  through  consciousness  of  helplessness.  She  was 
a  little  bit  dismayed  at  thought  of  going  to  her  mother 
and  explaining  that  this  work  had  been  rejected  for 
the  future.  She  did  not  wish  to  pose  for  other 
artists;  there  was  some  reserve  about  her. 

Canny  beyond  her  years,  through  the  precarious 
life  provided  for  her  by  a  stepfather  who  loved  his 
liquor  far  more  than  his  adopted  family,  and  a  mother 
who  had  driven  him  to  this  unnatural  division  of  af- 
'fection  by  the  sharpness  of  her  tongue  and  an  ex 
traordinary  greed  for  bizarre  self -adornment,  the  girl 
already  had  begun  to  definitely  regret  the  outburst  of 
her  temper  which  might  mean  a  break  with  the  old 
artist — who  had  been  a  most  important  source  of  in 
come  to  them  all.  Her  brother  either  could  not  earn 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         11 

or  would  not  earn — the  former  being  his  contention 
and  their  mother's  plea,  while  the  latter  was  Bettina's 
firm  conviction.  Money  had  to  be  discovered,  some 
how,  with  which  to  furnish  his  supplies,  for  until  they 
were  secured  her  mother  would  use  money  for  no 
other  purpose — not  even  for  household  necessities. 
Her  claim  was  that  the  youth  was  most  unfortunate, 
that  he  continually  met  disastrous  luck  through  no 
fault  of  his  own,  that  the  whole  world,  including  the 
"old  man"  and  Bettina,  was  strong  against  him.  If 
one  called  attention  to  his  manifold  shortcomings, 
such  as  a  tendency  to  bet  upon  the  races,  gamble  else- 
wise,  spend  upon  boon  companions  money  which 
should  have  been  devoted  to  the  family  or  his  own 
board  bills,  she  made  excuses  for  him.  That  he  was 
young  was  her  invariable  plea  when  he  did  something 
worthy  of  a  criminal  centenarian. 

And  Bettina  knew  that  she  herself  did  not  actually 
hate  him,  as  she  ought  to. 

From  her  earliest  remembrance  the  family  life  had 
been  a  battle  for  her  mother's  favor,  between  her 
stepfather,  on  one  side,  and  her  brother  and  herself 
upon  the  other.  Had  it  not  been  for  their  coalition 
against  the  "old  man,"  she  might  have  hated  Arthur. 
Sometimes  she  hated  him,  in  spite  of  it,  but  the  hatred 
faded  when  their  stepfather  tried  to  punish  him,  or 
even  hamper  him  in  the  realization  of  some  of  his 
extravagant  desires,  although,  before  the  "old  man's" 
wrath  arose  she  might  have  fumed  with  indignation 
because  Arthur's  waste  was  curtailing  her  own  spend 
ing. 


12         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

As  things  stood,  therefore,  the  daughter,  mother 
and  son  comprised  a  little  human  triangle  surrounded 
by  a  hostile  world,  and  surrounding  one  poor  wretch, 
her  stepfather.  The  triangle  combined  against  them 
both,  determined  to  beat  off  the  world  and  victimize 
it,  when  that  was  possible,  and  equally  resolved  to 
keep  the  old  man  in.  While  it  kept  him  in  it  was  an 
easy  thing  to  victimize  him  to  a  degree — a  small  de 
gree,  for  his  income  was  small.  If  he  escaped  for  a 
few  days — sometimes  he  got  away  for  a  full  month, 
to  lie  in  sodden  liberty  at  a  distance,  or  in  hiding — 
indignation  became  general.  But  the  family  always 
rescued,  while  it  cursed  him. 

It  was  characteristic  both  of  Bettina  and  her  mother 
that  they  had  a  sense  of  loyalty  toward  him,  as  well  as 
toward  Arthur  and  each  other,  ready  to  be  flaunted 
in  the  public  gaze,  but  showing  shabbily,  or  being 
utterly  invisible  when  they  were  by  themselves.  Many 
were  the  battles  waged  in  their  own  privacy;  even 
fearsome  were  the  tales  they  told  to  one  another  about 
one  another;  but  when  it  came  to  real  attack  on  any 
one  of  them  from  the  outside  then  would  they  rise, 
cohesive  and  repellent  as  the  Three  Guardsmen,  to 
combat  the  world — only,  when  the  fight  was  over,  to 
express  with  sizzling  emphasis,  not  free  from  fierce 
invective  from  the  four  male  lips  among  them,  their 
violent  opinions  of  each  other. 

Bettina,  as  she  watched  Murfree  smoke,  considered 
all  these  things — indefinitely,  scarcely  conscious  that 
she  analyzed  them.  She  knew  that  should  the  artist 
try  to  harm  her — insult  her,  or  abuse  her,  or  reduce 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         13 

her  wages — she  would  have  the  massed  backing  of 
her  family  against  him,  and  that  if  they  could  not 
actually  do  him  harm  they  would  hate  him  till  their 
dying  days;  she  also  knew  that  if  she  left  him,  as  she 
threatened  to,  when  all  the  fault  was  hers,  and  robbed 
the  family  coffers  of  the  money  which  he  offered  her 
for  posing,  she  would  not  readily  be  forgiven  the  sin. 

The  finances  of  the  family  always  were  at  ebb ;  just 
now  they  were  at  lower  ebb  than  usual;  it  would  be 
an  especially  bad  time  to  stop  the  flow  of  even  the 
small  stream  with  which  her  work  was  feeding  them. 
Her  wrath  at  Murfree  was  not  lessened;  her  wrath 
at  those  at  home  became  intense ;  but  she  decided  not 
to  throw  away  the  source  of  income.  She  had  not 
the  courage,  now  that  she  had  stopped  to  think  it  over. 

Murfree  never  smoked  when  he  was  painting,  it 
being  his  contention  that  the  floating  vapor  round  his 
easel  might  affect  his  color- judgment. 

"Well,"  she  snapped,  "you  going  to  sit  and  puff 
all  day?  Or  are  you  going  to  work  again?" 

"You've  decided  to  pose  decently,  have  you?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  I'll  pose.  I've  got  to  pose.  I'm  in  your 
power  enough  for  that.  I  suppose  it's  possible  to  hate 
you  just  as  much  when  I'm  here  posing  as  it  would 
be  if  I  went  outside  to  do  it." 

"Little  cat!" 

"Beast!" 

Murfree  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Well,  Bettina,"  he  said  genially — so  genially  that 
she  felt  the  muscles  of  her  own  face  softening — "per 
haps  we'd  better  quit  our  scrapping  and  go  on  about 


14         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

our  business.  Hurry  up,  get  off  your  duds,  and  take 
the  pose." 

All  the  time  she  was  behind  the  screen  undressing 
she  railed  at  him  in  her  heart,  but  suddenly  she  had 
learned  a  mighty  lesson.  She  had  learned  that  there 
were  other  ways  to  manage  men  than  to  abuse  them 
and  desert  them.  She  decided,  then  and  there,  that, 
no  matter  how  she  might  hate  Murfree,  she  would 
use  him;  she  would  manage  him  and  use  him.  So, 
although  it  wrenched  her  lips  to  do  it,  she  was  smiling 
when  she  stepped  up  to  the  model's  stand  and  took 
her  pose. 

"For  Heaven's  sake !"  said  the  astonished  Murfree. 
"Got  your  smiles  back?" 

"I've  decided  to  be  nice,"  Bettina  answered. 

Murfree  looked  at  her  with  opened  mouth.  Here 
was  a  new  phase  of  the  girl.  "You've  decided  to  be 
nice — to  me?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Murfree." 

He  raised  his  eyes  dramatically.  "This  must  be  a 
dream!"  Then  to  her:  "Great  God,  child!  Why?" 

"I'll  get  the  pose  first,  then  we'll  talk,  if  you're  still 
working  on  the  legs.  Are  you?" 

"Yes ;  I'll  work  on  anything  you  say.     I'm  dazed." 

"Well— am  I  right,  now?" 

"Turn  your  back  a  little.  Right  knee  up  a  trifle, 
please  .  .  .  There — that's  it,  exactly." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  to  pose;  but  I  guess  the  way  to 
stop  it  isn't  just  to  quit." 

"  'The  way  to  stop  it  isn't  just  to  quit?'  It  sounds 
unintelligent.  Just  what  is  the  idea  ?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         15 

"I  mean  that,  maybe,  if  I'm  more  careful  and  really 
try  to  help  you,  perhaps  you'll  try  to  help  me,  Mur 
free." 

Now  he  let  both  maul-stick  and  palette  fall. 

"Bettina,  I  am  down  and  out!  Is  it  possible  that 
you  are  planning  to  control  old  Murfree  through 
sweet  words  of  kindness?  You?" 

"I'm  not  planning  to  control  you.  It  had  just  oc 
curred  to  me,  that's  all,  that  if  I  want  you  to  do  fa 
vors  for  me,  I  had  best  do  favors  for  you,  Murfree." 

She  broke  the  pose  and  turned  toward  him,  with  an 
appealing  gesture,  singularly  irresistible.  She  looked 
very  slim  and  childish;  that  she  was  posing  for  a 
nymph  did  not  seem  shocking  to  him — he  had  painted 
nymphs,  from  one  model  or  another,  for  the  better 
part  of  forty  years ;  he  saw  no  allurement,  but  merely 
lines  and  color  values  in  the  frank  exposure. 

"I'll  be  glad  to  help  you,  if  I  can,"  he  said  soberly, 
quite  as  if  the  conversation  was  in  progress  in  the 
common-place  surroundings  and  conventional  cos 
tumes  of  a  flathouse  sitting-room. 

"Really?" 

"Sure,  Betty." 

"Then — you  know  a  lot  of  people.  Lots  of  people 
buy  your  pictures.  They  must  be  prosperous,  or  they 
couldn't  buy  them,  for  you  know  you  get  good  prices, 
Murfree." 

"The  deuce  I  do!  Sometimes  I  do,  sometimes  I 
don't — but  go  on,  please." 

"Isn't  there  some  work  that  I  could  do,  for  some 
of  them,  that  wouldn't  be — like  this?  Don't  they 


16         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

sometimes  need — oh,  governesses  for  their  children? 
Companions  for  their  wives,  to  read  aloud,  and  so  on  ? 
I've  read  about  such  positions.  I  could  be  a  governess 
— if  they  didn't  ask  too  much." 

"You'd  choke  the  kids  to  death  and  throw  them 
off  the  roof  the  first  time  they  bothered  you,"  Mur- 
free  predicted,  gloomily. 

"Not  if  I  had  the— job — and  wished  to  keep  it," 
she  replied.  "I've  got  quite  a  hold  upon  myself.  See 
how  I've  pulled  myself  together,  now!  I  was  very 
angry,  Murfree." 

"When  you  get  a  hold  upon  yourself  you'll  really 
be  dangerous,"  he  said,  with  shaking  head. 

"I'd  be  less  dangerous  to  little  children,  wouldn't 
I?" 

"To  little  children,  possibly,  but— Lord !— to  adults 
—women.  You  would  poison  them,  I  think,  if  they 
once  crossed  you." 

"No,  I  wouldn't.  My  temper  flares  and  dies  away 
I  don't  hate." 

"But  you  don't  care  for  folks.  You  can't.  Not 
in  you." 

"I  care  for  my  mother  and  my  brother." 

"That's  mere  habit,  not  affection." 

"Why,  Murfree,  I  even  care  for  you.  Wait,  I'm 
going  to  get  that  egg  off." 

"Glad  to  have  you  get  the  egg  off,  but  you'll  never 
care  for  me,  or,  really,  for  anyone.  Sometime  you'll 
think  you  are  in  love,  but  you  won't  be.  It  will  flare 
and  pass.  You'll  pretend  you  are  a  hundred  times. 
Then  will  be  when  you  will  raise  most — hob !" 

She  was  working  with  a  palette  knife  at  the  coagu- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         17. 

lated  egg.  He  knew  it  was  a  bribe,  rather  than  a 
service,  although  she  looked  at  him,  with  big  eyes, 
very  prettily,  so  he  desisted. 

"I  do  care  for  you,  and  I  care  very  much  for  my 
dear  family.  And  little  children?  I  adore  them!" 

"I  know  a  good  sight  better." 

"You're  wrong.  I  wouldn't  poison  them — I'd  man 
age  them." 

He  shook  his  head,  emphatically  doubtful;  then  he 
took  thought  of  existing  things,  and  began  to  wonder 
at  them;  wondering  at  them,  he  began  to  also  won 
der  if  she  might  not,  even  then,  be  proving  her  ability 
to  manage  them.  This  thought  he  voiced,  ere  long. 

"You're  managing  me,  this  minute,  aren't  you?" 

"I  hope  so." 

There  was  a  new  appeal  in  the  girl's  eyes.  He 
doubted  it,  and  yet  believed  it.  Could  it  be  possible, 
he  asked  himself,  that  he  was  witnessing  a  human 
metamorphosis?  Was  the  "little  cat,"  whom  he  had 
known  so  long,  maturing,  there  before  his  eyes,  into  a 
charming,  reasonable  woman?  He  had  hoped  she 
might,  some  day,  but,  lately,  had  begun  to  doubt  the 
possibility. 

"Well,  you  are,"  he  granted.  "Now,  exactly  what 
do  you  wish  me  to  do  for  you?" 

"Keep  a  lookout  for  a  place  for  me.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  I  couldn't  be — a  servant — not  exactly 
that." 

"You  might  try  clerking  it.  I  could  probably  get 
you  a  job  in  some  art  store.  You  know  something 
about  pictures." 

"No;  no  use  of  tempting  providence,  Murfree.     I 


18         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

couldn't  stand  it.  Even  the  control  I've  got  upon  my 
temper,  now,  wouldn't  endure  the  strain  of  talking  art 
to  that  sort  which  goes  into  picture  stores  to  buy." 

He  nodded  with  approval.  The  girl  had  brains. 
There  was  no  doubt  of  that. 

"Well,  you  know  music.  I  might  help  you 
with " 

He. stopped  short,  suddenly. 

"With  whom?"  she  eagerly  inquired. 

"No;  music  would  be  a  bad  life  for  you,"  he  said 
•slowly. 

He  was  thinking  of  that  Theodore  Sevigny,  of 
whom  he  had  expressed  such  deep  contempt,  the  abom 
inable  young  pianist  who  had  daily  come  to  get  her 
at  the  studio,  until  the  artist  had  informed  him 
that  next  time  he  climbed  the  stairs  he,  personally, 
would  throw  him  bodily  down  them.  Like  others  of 
high  art's  pursuers,  he  believed  that  those  who  sought 
her  in  another  guise  than  that  which  he  found  so 
alluring  must  invariably  be  fools  or  charlatans.  Se 
vigny,  being  musical,  was,  therefore,  both  unreliable 
and  dangerous.  He  put  away  from  him  the  thought 
which  for  a  moment  had  flashed  through  his  brain 
of  finding  her  a  place  with  an  impresario  friend,  who 
needed  someone  in  his  office,  to  receive  visitors. 

"I  just  happened  to  remember  that  the  chap  whom 
I  was  thinking  of  is  dead,"  he  lied.  "I  wouldn't 
know  exactly  how  to  reach  him  with  a  letter  intro 
ducing  you." 

She  dimpled  to  the  joke.  "I  wouldn't  care  to  take 
the  place,  I'm  sure,  even  if  you  could  get  it  for  me. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         19 

I  never  liked  the  heat.  But  don't  you  know  some 
body  who  is  still  on  earth,  and  who  might  be  as  likely 
to — like  me?" 

He  laughed.  "You're  showing  me  a  brand  new 
side,  Bettina.  And  I  thought  I  knew  all  of  your 
phases." 

"You're  seeing  more  of  them,  this  minute,  than 
any  other  living  soul  except  my  mother  ever  saw. 
But  can't  you  think  of  someone  who  would  like  the 
sober  side  ?  The  helpful,  busy  side  ?  I'm  sure  there's 
one,  and  I  should  like  to  use  it."  She  had  a  sense  of 
triumph.  She  was  managing  him.  She  knew,  too, 
that  she  was  doing  a  neat  bit  of  acting. 

"I  wonder  if  there  isn't!"  he  exclaimed.  "Well, 
I'll  tell  you  what.  You  take  the  pose  again,  while  I 
fix  up  that  thigh  a  little,  and  as  I  work  I'll  think." 

Almost  she  advised  him  not  to  risk  a  strain  so 
unaccustomed;  but  with  new  self-control  she  curbed 
her  tongue. 

He  worked  rapidly  and  with  few  words  until  the 
light  failed. 

"I  haven't  got  it,  yet,"  he  told  her,  while  she  was 
behind  the  screen,  above  which,  as  she  dressed,  there 
now  and  then  were  flutters  of  swung  garments.  "But 
I'll  find  someone.  If  you're  really  in  earnest  about 
this — you  are,  aren't  you?" 

It  may  have  been  pins  in  her  mouth  which  made 
her  answer  somewhat  indistinct.  He  thought  it  was. 
It  may  have  been  a  tendency  toward  scornful  laugh 
ter — for  Bettina  certainly  was  advancing  in  the  wis 
dom  of  this  world  by  leaps  and  bounds,  that  after- 


gQ         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

noon.  "Why,  certainly,"  she  said,  at  any  rate.  "Of 
course  I  am,  Murfree." 

"Well,  you  bet  I'll  help  you,  then." 

She  came  from  behind  the  screen,  gowned  shab 
bily,  wrapped  in  an  old  cloak  which  she  wore  jauntily, 
crowned  by  a  wide  hat  which  drooped  with  picturesque 
effect,  although  a  better  light  would  have  revealed 
some  gaps  in  its  old  feather's  edging. 

"And  you'll  forgive  me,  Murfree,  for  calling  you 
a  beast  to-day?"  Again  that  sweet,  appealing  look 
of  upturned,  wistful  eyes — exceedingly  large  eyes — 
dramatic  eyes. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Bettina!"  He  was  utterly 
dumfounded.  "What  a  change  of  heart!  Why,  lit 
tle  girl,  of  course  I  have  forgiven  you,  and  I  will 
help  you!" 

She  smiled  very  sweetly,  longing,  mightily,  to 
laugh  instead.  "It's  nicer  not  to  quarrel  with  people, 
isn't  it?"  said  she.  "To-day  has  taught  me  a  great 
lesson,  Murfree.  I  never  thought  it  out  before. 
You're  not  a  beast,  at  all,  except  when  I  make  you 
angry.  And  I  made  you  angry  quite  intentionally. 
So  it  has  been  my  fault  you  have  been  a  beast  at  all." 

There  was  something  almost  fervent  in  the  hand 
which  Murfree  laid  upon  her  shoulder.  "My  child, 
I'll  never  be  a  beast  with  you  again.  It  has  been  my 
fault,  not  yours.  My  fault." 

"No,  mine — and  I'm  so  sorry!"  she  called  back  to 
him  as  she  left. 

Long  after  her  departure  the  bewildered  artist  sat 
in  the  growing  dusk,  endeavoring  to  adjust  himself 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         21 

to  this  new  girl.  She  had,  for  years,  amused  him; 
he  had  loved  to  fight  with  her;  it  had  been  a  real 
divertissement  in  a  somewhat  colorless  existence.  He 
had  used  her,  sometimes,  not  because  he  liked  her 
flesh-tints  for  a  certain  picture,  and  when  a  more 
mature  figure  would  have  been  much  better  for  the 
work  in  hand,  but  because  it  so  amused  him  to 
observe  her  as  she  stuck  her  claws  out,  to  listen  to 
her,  as  she  hissed  and  sputtered.  He  had  never  had 
much  comfort  from  her  purring.  It  had  been  far  too 
infrequent. 

Contrition  swept  him.  He  felt  that  his  had  been  a 
vicious  life.  He  had  not  done  much  harm,  but  had 
he  done  much  good?  Was  not  this  to  be  his  oppor 
tunity  to  benefit  that  world  which  he  had  hitherto 
regarded  merely  as  a  thing  to  battle  with,  or  scorn,  or 
laugh  at — and  exact  a  living  from?  He  supposed  all 
men  should  feel  some  sense  of  duty  .  .  .  obliga 
tion. 

As  he  considered  things  in  this  new  light,  which 
so  revealed  the  error  of  his  own  past  ways,  he  saw 
a  new  Bettina,  rising,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  fresh 
paint  (flesh  tint)  of  the  tempting  and  alluring  nymph 
which  beckoned  to  him  from  his  easel.  Had  he  done 
ill  by  her  in  letting  her  thus  pose  for  him  ?  He  could 
not  think  so,  for  the  posing  had  begun  when  she  had 
been  a  baby  girl,  and  had  always  been  a  very  serious 
affair,  frequently  the  cause  of  fights,  never  the  cause 
of  anything  more  tender  than  cold  business,  or  wild 
verbal  brickbats  thrown  through  the  studio  with  such 
extraordinary  plenitude  and  energy  that  had  they  been 


22         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

material  the  skylight  would  a  thousand  times  have 
lain  in  shattered  bits  about  his  feet.  He  knew  that 
she  regarded  him  much  as  she  looked  upon  her  step 
father — only  with  some  slight  respect,  regard,  admira 
tion,  filial  feeling.  Truly  he  had  been  far  more  a 
father  to  her  than  her  mother's  second  husband  had — 
and  truly  that  had  not  been  much.  Was  it  not  his 
duty,  now,  to  really  play  a  part  paternal  with  her? 
The  time  had  come  when  she  must  be  removed  from 
certain  influences — principally  the  Sevigny  influence — 
or  suffer  ardent  and  undoubted  danger.  He  was  con 
vinced  of  that.  Yes ;  he  must  find  a  place  for  her. 

Having  reached  this  comfortable  conclusion,  he  felt 
most  meritorious  and  went  around  the  corner,  to  sit 
at  a  small  table  in  the  restaurant  of  a  prosperous 
Italian,  reading  a  month-old  French  newspaper,  while 
he  ate  his  sausages  and  macaroni. 

At  about  that  time  Bettina  reached  her  home,  which 
was  the  third  flat  in  a  building  cornered  on  a  thor 
oughfare  named  for  the  birthplace  of  some  few  of 
New  York's  early  settlers.  There  is  no  other  street 
in  New  York  City  quite  like  Amsterdam  Avenue — 
compound  of  important  traffic  artery  from  the  dense 
downtown  business  city  to  the  dense  uptown  dormi 
tory  town,  residence  street  for  some  in  moderate  cir 
cumstances  and  many  of  circuitous  and  doubtful 
means  of  living,  with  ground  floors  given  over,  half 
and  half,  perhaps,  to  flats  and  little  retail  businesses, 
among  which  saloons  predominate  (of  course,  for  it 
is  in  New  York),  and  among  which  the  imported 
delicatessen  store  shares  honors  with  the  native  gro 
cery. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         23 

The  hallway  into  which  the  young  girl  turned  was 
compressed  between  a  delicatessen  and  a  drug-store, 
and,  while  it  was  not  without  pretensions  in  the  way 
of  cut-stone  and  beveled  glass,  it  sadly  needed  soap 
and  water  on  its  intricately  tiled  floor.  A  tall  and 
slender  youth,  very,  if  somewhat  cheaply  elegant,  so 
long-haired  that  he  might  as  well  have  worn  a  badge 
proclaiming:  "I  am  musical,  oh,  very  temperamen 
tal,"  drooped  gracefully  on  the  stone  balustrade  which 
flanked  its  doorsteps.  He  had  been  glaring  fiercely 
at  a  grocer's  helper,  who  had  laughed  loudly  at  his 
hair;  but  he  greeted  her  with  smiles. 

"Oh,  there  you  are!"  said  she,  a  little  sharply. 

He  answered  with  a  foreign  accent,  which  a  stran 
ger,  hearing  him,  would  have  found  it  puzzling  to 
entirely  identify.  Truth  was  that  it  was  compound  of 
an  inborn  twist  gained  from  Alsatian  parents,  which 
had  been  adamant  against  the  public  schools  of  the 
East  Side,  and  a  mixture  of  the  French  and  German 
tendencies  of  newcomers  to  these  shores,  which  he 
had  carefully  devised,  because  he  thought  it  made 
him  interesting  to  the  pupils  (whom  he  fought  hard 
to  get)  of  his  piano  lessons.  The  musical  instruc 
tors'  ranks  in  New  York  City  are  much  overcrowded. 
No  man  must  let  the  lack  of  anything  so  slight  as  a 
queer  accent  stand  between  him  and  the  bare  neces 
sities  of  life. 

Theodore  Sevigny  was  sufficiently  a  Scotchman, 
despite  the  actual  mixture  of  his  blood,  to  know  this, 
and  to  have  invented  a  very  fascinating  way  of  lisp 
ing,  slurring,  rumbling  r's  and  complicating  sentences. 


£4         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Also  he  used  these  various  abilities  dramatically,  roll 
ing  eyes  and  shrugging  shoulders  with  a  lavish  gener 
osity  of  gesture  which  was  unsafe  in  mixed  company 
of  those  small  New  York  boys  who  scorn  affectation, 
but  which  had  often  proved  effective  with  young  lady 
pupils  and  their  even  more  impressionable  mam 
mas. 

"Bet-fmt-ah!"  he  now  cried,  dramatically,  as  if  she 
had  arisen  unexpectedly  out  of  the  tomb  at  a  time 
when  he  had  quite  abandoned  hope  that  she  could 
ever  come  to  life. 

He  did  not  himself  know  just  why  he  practiced 
all  his  arts  with  such  unceasing  assiduity  upon  Bet- 
tina  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Curtis.  He  was  by  no 
means  sure  that  he  was  seriously  anxious  to  impress 
them ;  he  was  by  no  means  sure  he  was  not.  Perhaps 
he  loved  Bettina.  Certainly  he  wished  to  have  her 
think  he  did,  for  that  would  make  her  thrill  with 
love  for  him  and  Theodore  was  over-fond  of  being 
loved — admired — regarded  as  a  genius — anything 
which  took  him  vividly  into  the  limelight,  no  matter 
of  what  slight  importance  might  that  limelight  be. 

"Poor  Theodore !"  said  she.  "Have  you  been  wor 
ried?" 

"When  you  did  not  leave  the  ogre's  den  at  six 
o'clock,"  said  he,  "I  was  insane  with  fright,  but  finally 
decided  that  you  probably  had  told  the  wolf — the 
snake — the  wild  hy-een-ah — that  you  would  no  longer 
pose  for  him."  His  hat  was  in  his  hand.  He  threw 
his  head  about  until  his  long  hair  flopped.  "So  I 
came  here,  at  once.  Then,  when  your  mother  told 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         25 

me  you  had  not  come  home — ah,  Bet-te^n-ah!  I  was 
frightened.  If  you  had  delayed  another  moment  I 
should  have  gone  to  the  police!" 

She  laughed.  He  frequently  amused  her,  even 
when  he  most  impressed  her. 

"You  laugh  at  me — you  laugh  at  your  own  Theo 
dore!"  he  cried,  distressed. 

She  sobered.  He  frequently  impressed  her,  even 
when  he  most  amused  her. 

"Nothing  tragic's  happened,"  she  assured  him.  "I 
had  a  row  with  Murfree.  That  was  all.  And  it 
took  time.  It  was  delightful!" 

"The  ogre!" 

"I  don't  think  he  ever  really  tried  to  eat  me,  but  I 
almost  bit  his  head  off!" 

His  eyes  were  big  with  horror.  "But  he 
didn't " 

"No,  no,  Theodore."  She  was  annoyed  by  the  stu 
pidity  of  his  imaginings.  "Come  upstairs.  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

Theodore  shrank  slightly.  "No;  Bettina:  no,  I 
won't  go  in  to-night." 

"Why?    What's  the  matter?    Is  father  home?" 

"He  came  while  I  was  waiting  for  you,  and — he 
almost  saw  me." 

The  girl's  face  grew  grave.  She  plainly  wished  to 
hurry  up  the  stairs;  yet  she  paused  long  enough  to 
tell  her  story  in  a  few  short  words. 

"He  got  sorry  afterward — Murfree,  I  mean,"  said 
she,  "and  while  we  quarreled  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  quit  that  sort  of  thing — the  posing." 


26         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Bet-teen-ah !"  the  pianist  cried  with  fervor  and  de 
light. 

Her  work  had  always  stirred  him  with  a  sort  of 
jealousy.  He  had  not  argued  much  against  it,  be 
cause  none  knew  better  than  himself  how  much  the 
money  which  she  earned  was  needed  by  her  family, 
and  none  was  less  inclined  than  he  to  offer  to  re 
place  it  with  money  of  his  own  securing.  He  had 
never  risen  in  hot  wrath  against  her  posing,  there 
fore,  yet  he  now  felt  a  comfortable  thrill  of  satisfac 
tion  at  the  thought  that  she  would  pose  no  more. 

"Well,  I  told  him  I  had  made  my  mind  up  and 
should  stop  it." 

"Was  that  what  caused  the  quarrel?" 

"No;  I  think  it  was  because  he  said  I  wiggled  my 
left  knee  that  I  exploded.  I  only  thought  of  it  while 
I  was  standing  by  the  door  for  half  an  hour,  waiting 
for  him  to  unlock  it." 

"Did  he  unlock  it?" 

"No,  he  didn't;  and  I  got  to  thinking.  Then  I 
stopped  asking  him  to  let  me  out  and  went  back  and 
sat  down.  We  had  a  little  talk,  and  when  I  began 
to  pose  again " 

"Oh,  Bettina!"  Sevigny  made  a  gesture  of  de 
spair.  He  made  fine  gestures  of  despair,  and,  know 
ing  this,  made  them  quite  frequently.  And,  as  argu 
ments  against  her  posing,  they  could  not  be  taken 
very  seriously — they  were  mild  protests,  which  he 
knew  would  never  make  her  cease  her  work,  although 
they  put  him  upon  record  as  objecting  to  it.  His  was 
a  facile,  diplomatic  mind. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         27 

"When  I  began  to  pose  again,"  the  girl  continued 
calmly,  "I  told  him  I  was  going  to  stop." 

"I  suppose  he  got  more  furious  than  ever." 

"No;  you  don't  know  Murfree.  He  did  not  at 
all.  He  said  he'd  rather  have  a  blonde.  He  was 
very  much  astonished,  for  a  while,  but  then  he  talked 
the  matter  over  with  me  nicely  and  decided,  finally, 
that  he  would  help  me  find  some  other  work  which 
would  do  just  as  well  and  which  has  not  such — disad 
vantages." 

"Some — shop?"  gasped  Theodore.  Should  she 
work  in  a  shop,  then  his  artistic  soul,  he  knew,  would 
find  itself  unable  to  endure  association  with  her.  It 
would  be  too  tragic! 

She  caught  this  vagrant  thought  and  went  on 
quickly  with  her  explanation.  "No;  not  a  shop.  I 
told  him  that  I  couldn't  possibly  do  that;  but  that  if 
some  of  his  rich  and  fashionable  friends — he  has  a 
lot  of  them,  you  know:  old-fashioned,  but  a  few 
of  them  so  rich  that  it  is  wicked — should  want  me  to 
become  companion  to  their  wives  or  governess  to  their 
small  children,  why — I  told  him  that  the  work  must 
be  genteel ;  but  I  told  him  that  I  wanted  to  stop  posing. 
And  he's  going  to  try  to  find  a  place  for  me. 

"I've  got  to  do  it,  Theodore,  even  if  it's  out  of 
town.  As  things  stand,  now,  I'm  getting  on — I'm 
nineteen  in  a  month  or  two — and  I'm  not  meeting  any 
— er — anyone  with  money."  She  had  almost  let  slip 
"any  men",  but  had  adroitly  caught  herself. 

But  her  meaning  did  not  escape  him.  He  was 
stirred. 


28         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Men  with  money!"  he  exclaimed,  insulted.  "Bet- 
teen-ah!  What  of  me?" 

She  smiled  at  him  with  admiration  blended  with 
good-natured  tolerance.  "You  know  'what  of  you'. 
You  haven't  anything.  If  your  opera  is  ever  pro 
duced  and  makes  a  fortune — or,  if — oh,  if  anything 
occurs,  why  then " 

He  dropped  his  head  in  resignation.  "Ah,  pov 
erty!" 

"You  don't  like  it,  Theodore,  any  more  than  I  do." 

"It  grinds  and  crushes,  stifling  the  artistic  fires!" 
he  carefully  admitted. 

"And  your  artistic  fires  must  not  be  stifled,"  she 
said  very  earnestly.  It  was  plain  that  even  if  Sevigny 
sometimes  was  amusing  to  her,  she  still  had  real  re 
spect  for  his  ability.  Perhaps  she  loved  him.  Who 
could  say?  Surely  not  Bettina,  though  Sevigny 
thought  she  could. 

"I  suppose  that  we  must  call  it  Fate!"  he  mur 
mured. 

"It's  common  sense,"  was  her  matter-of-fact  com 
ment. 

"Oh,  Bet-te*n-ah,  I " 

Now  he  had  a  rival  in  the  exclamation  of  her  name. 
Her  mother  called  it  from  the  head  of  the  first  flight 
of  stairs. 

"You  down  there,  Bettina?  Your  stepfather's 
home  and  angry  because  dinner's  waiting." 

"Animal!"  Sevigny  growled. 

"Theodore!"  said  Bettina  sternly. 

"How  can  you  defend  him?"  he  asked  hopelessly, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         29 

and,  giving  her  small  and  pleasant  hand  a  rapid  pres 
sure,  faded  off  into  the  nimbus  an  electric  light  was 
building  in  the  thickening  fog  which,  now,  was  creep 
ing  upward  through  the  sloping  streets  which  led 
across  Broadway,  across  Riverside  Drive  and  to  the 
Hudson. 

After  he  had  gone  a  block  on  Amsterdam,  he 
turned  eastward  until  he  reached  the  whang  and  clat 
ter  of  Columbus  Avenue,  where  surface  cars  and  ele 
vated  railroad  make  the  early  evening  sound  like  a 
Titanic  boiler-shop  wherein  fire-alarms  are  frequently 
exclaimed  by  gongs. 


CHAPTER  II 

Downtown  in  the  studio,  Murfree  sat  in  a  deep 
revery.  It  was  not  definitely  built  of  thoughts  of  the 
young  girl  who  recently  had  left  him,  clothed  and 
in  her  right  mind,  after  having  spent  the  day  un 
clothed,  and  most  of  it  in  anything  but  a  right  mind. 

Principally  he  was  dreaming  of  his  past — the  old, 
old  past,  which  seemed  so  very  far  away  that  it  was 
scarcely  real;  the  past  when  he  had  gone  to  college 
in  a  lovely  little  city  in  the  western  part  of  New  York 
state,  when  through  work  which  had  seemed  wonder 
ful  to  him  and  had  seemed  good  to  others,  he  had 
won  a  scholarship  transporting  him  to  Paris,  when 
he  had  strained  and  struggled  in  the  Quartier,  trying 
to  make  ends  meet  and  discovering  new  evidences 
daily  that  even  if  the  art  which  won  the  scholarship 
was  good,  it  yet  was  less  divine  than  much  which 
concentrated  there  in  the  great  schools. 

Young  Murfree  had  lost  heart  ere  he  had  left  the 
Paris  ateliers,  and  so  he  cared  much  less  to  dwell  upon 
his  memories  of  those  bleak  days  than  upon  memories 
of  the  bright  ones  which  preceded  them,  when,  unso 
phisticated,  gallantly  aspiring,  egotistical  and  unaware 
that  other  youths  were  able  and  as  violently  ambi 
tious,  he  had  dreamed  himself  the  conqueror  of  the 
artistic  world. 

30 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         31 

Most  of  his  friends  in  the  western  New  York  col 
lege  also  had  seen  him  in  that  light.  It  had  been 
a  definitely  commercial-legal  class.  He,  almost  alone, 
had  stood  in  it  for  art,  and  perhaps  it  had  been  be 
cause  of  this  that  he,  as  well  as  others,  had  so  sadly 
over-estimated  his  abilities.  The  awakening  had  been 
less  tragic  than  it  would  have  been  if  it  had  been  more 
sudden.  It  had  been  so  gradual  that  it  had  brought 
discouragement,  not  despair.  And  this  discourage 
ment  had  settled  him  into  the  rut  which  he  had  fol 
lowed  ever  since — a  certain  number  of  good  pictures 
every  year,  which  sold  with  surety  at  fair  prices,  a 
membership  in  such  good  art  societies  as  he  cared 
to  spend  his  scanty  money  on  in  unartistic,  crude  New 
York.  New  York  would  ever  seem  to  him  new-built 
and  raw — he  could  not  see  its  grandeurs  as  some  for 
eigners  of  his  own  craft  could  see  them  when  they 
came  to  visit,  fresh  from  their  own  soft  wonders  of 
aged  harmonies,  softened  picturesqueness. 

He  felt  that  he  had  been  an  artisan,  rather  than 
the  artist  he  had  hoped  to  be,  felt  confident  of  being. 
His  pictures  had  not  sold  to  multi-millionaires  of  pic 
ture  wisdom  or  able  to  buy  picture  wisdom;  they  had 
not  been  sold  to  galleries;  they  had  not  even  sold  to 
the  hard-up,  who,  loving  pictures,  manage  to  pick  up 
a  good  one,  now  and  then,  at  a  low  price.  They  had 
sold  to  the  banal  who  speak  of  pictures  as  "oil  paint 
ings",  even,  sometimes,  to  the  stores  which  advertised 
them  as  "hand-painted" — that  was  the  bitterest  blow 
of  all. 

Bettina's  slim  young  nudity  was  nowhere  hung  in 


32         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

very  honored  company,  though  it  was  rarely  hung  in 
really  dishonorable  company,  for  Murfree's  nudes 
were  most  respectable.  Clubs  did  not  buy  them;  cafe 
proprietors  turned  on  them  jaded  and  uninterested 
eyes ;  they  fitted  only  those  who  felt  a  little  horror  of 
the  nude,  but  enough  of  being  out  of  fashion  to  make 
purchases  of  the  least  nude  of  nudes  because  they 
felt  some  sort  of  nude  to  be  a  necessary  proof  of 
their  emancipation.  These  things  old  Murf  ree  sat  there 
considering  rather  bitterly. 

They  had  been  brought  to  mind  by  a  long  letter, 
received  that  day,  from  an  old  college  friend.  He 
had  sometimes  wondered  how  it  had  been  possible 
for  Alston  to  remain  in  the  small  western  New  York 
state  town,  content  with  the  career  which  he  could 
fashion  from  the  law  there,  when  he  had  been  ac 
knowledged  in  his  college  days  to  be  so  brilliant  in 
his  promise.  Was  it  possible  that  Alston,  whom  he 
always  had  looked  down  upon  a  little,  because  he 
had  not  made  "the  plunge"  into  the  icy  waters  of 
New  York's  professional  struggle,  had,  really,  shown 
greater  bravery,  and,  above  all,  better  sense  than  he? 
He  knew  that  his  old  friend,  up  there  in  Belleville, 
had  waxed  prosperous,  and,  although  he  had  not  mar 
ried,  had  presumably  been  happy.  Heaven  knew  that 
he,  himself,  had  been  neither  prosperous  nor  happy  in 
New  York!  Would  it  have  been  the  better  course 
had  he  gone  to  the  city  of  his  birth  and  there  worked 
steadily  for  an  important  standing  in  a  "little  puddle" 
rather  than  to  have  come  to  the  metropolis,  striving 
for  an  unimportant  eddy  in  the  seething  sea? 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         33 

The  only  reason  he  had  never  married  had  been 
that  he  had  found  the  girl  he  first  loved  so  unworthy 
of  him  that  he  had  then  thrown  the  sex  aside  as 
wholly  worthless.  He  remembered  with  a  good  deal 
of  disgust  the  fervor  with  which  he  had  adored  the 
pretty  creature  who  had  since  become  Bettina's 
mother,  after  eloping  with  a  worthless  clerk,  a  race 
track  hanger-on,  cheap  soldier  of  small  fortunes. 

Had  Alston  had  a  similar  experience?  Could  it 
be  true,  as  he  had  heard  in  some  far,  half- forgotten 
gossip,  that  he  had  loved  the  girl  "Fred"  Hoffman 
married?  If  so,  then  his  chagrin  and  disappointment 
must  have  been  far  deeper  than  his  own,  for  she,  if 
he  remembered  rightly,  had  developed  into  really 
notable  importance  in  the  little  city,  and  had  made 
dear  old  "Fred"  Hoffman — how  they  all  had  loved 
"Fred"  Hoffman! — the  very  best,  most  capable,  most 
sympathetic  of  wives. 

Yet  Alston  had  not  soured  because  of  this.  He 
had  struck  his  gait  in  the  small  city,  never  faltered, 
and  had  come  to  be  the  leader  of  the  bar  there.  His 
friendship  for  "Fred"  Hoffman  had  not  wavered. 
Apparently  he  had  submitted  to  his  loss  of  Anna  Mer- 
rivale  to  "Fred",  as,  in  the  class,  all  the  boys  had 
stood  aside  when  "Fred"  had  wanted  anything — dis 
appointed,  very  likely,  but  submissive  and  by  no  means 
rancorous. 

What  a  personality  "Fred's"  was !  He  had  been  a 
"grinder"  at  his  studies,  yet  a  very  forceful  "grinder," 
and  most  "grinders"  are  not  forceful.  When  he  had 
engaged  in  sports  he  had  done  well  at  them,  in  the 


34         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

debates  he  had  invariably  won  through  simple,  ruth 
less  hammering  at  the  opposition,  in  social  life  he 
had  been  conqueror  because  he  rode  indifferent  to, 
even  ignorant  of,  rivalries.  No  man  in  college  had 
caused  anger  oftener,  none  had  had  fewer  enemies. 

He  wondered  just  what  kind  of  husband  "Fred" 
had  made  to  the  delightful  girl  whom  Alston  lost  to 
him.  He,  himself,  had  known  her  slightly.  He  could 
imagine  Hoffman  as  her  husband — she  was  so  femi 
nine  and  yielding,  he  so  dominant.  They  must  have 
been  a  happy  pair;  he  thought  she  liked  to  yield,  and, 
certainly,  "Fred"  liked  to  dominate.  But — ah,  poor 
Alston! 

From  such  thoughts  his  mind  turned  to  his  dinner, 
which  had  been  due  half  an  hour,  and  the  calls  of 
appetite  were  now  insistent ;  he  lived  a  most  methodi 
cal  existence.  He  looked  at  his  big,  somewhat  bat 
tered  silver  watch.  Alston  and  "Fred"  Hoffman, 
doubtless,  carried  gold  ones  of  great  price.  This  was 
the  same  watch  which  he  had  carried  through  those 
long-past  college  years.  And  from  his  thoughts  of 
dinner  came,  again,  quite  naturally,  thoughts  about 
Bettina's  mother.  How  she  had  cooked,  in  those 
days,  long  bygone !  She  even  then  had  had  in  her  the 
germ  which,  now,  has  brought  about  the  angels  of 
the  chafing-dish,  who  cast  together  with  apparent  care 
lessness  absurd  concoctions,  set  them  bubbling  over 
alcohol,  and  serve  them  smoking  hot,  and  heavenly, 
at  midnight. 

Her  first  husband  had  departed  very  promptly  from 
this  world  as  soon  as  he  had  fathered  three.  Then 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE    35 

she  had  married  Curtis.  What  a  pity  it  had  been! 
Or,  after  all,  had  it  been,  really?  As  a  woman,  could 
she  possibly  have  been  what  he  had  thought  she  would 
be  ?  Had  she  ever  had  the  potentialities  which  he  had 
attributed  to  her?  He  wondered  if  he  still  cared  for  her 
and  decided  that  he  did  not,  but  kept  the  old  illusion 
living  in  his  heart  because  there  were  so  few  illusions 
there  that,  lacking  it,  that  heart  would  have  been  far 
too  empty  for  his  comfort.  Still,  he  must  do  what 
he  could  do  for  poor  Bettina,  although  there  lurked 
within  his  breast  a  firm  conviction  that  the  girl  was 
really  a  little  devil,  that  she  did  not  genuinely  de 
serve  the  deep  solicitude  which  he  was  giving  her* 
When  he  reproached  himself  for  having  let  her  pose 
for  him  a  smile  of  skepticism  grew  upon  his  face — he 
knew  she  had  enjoyed  it  from  the  first,  when,  at  the 
age  of  three,  she  had  held  a  tiny  bow  and  arrow 
loosely  in  her  chubby  hands  and  been  a  Cupid  for  a 
set  of  valentines  which  he  was  painting  for  a  litho 
graphic  house.  Had  it  not  been  for  him  she  would 
have  been  upon  the  list  of  every  artist  in  the  street, 
one  of  the  sad  and  weary  company  of  girls  who 
spend  a  good  part  of  their  waking  hours  in  tramping 
from  one  studio  to  another,  seeking  work. 

No,  when  he  carefully  considered  it,  he  could  not 
feel  that  he  had  done  her  any  injury,  and  he  was  sure 
that  he  had  done  her  many  services.  He  had  helped 
her  red-hot  temper  in  keeping  vicious  young  men 
clear  of  her,  failing,  only,  with  the  marvelously  ab 
surd  and  doubly  dangerous  Sevigny;  he  had  seen  to 
it  that  she  had  from  his  scanty  earnings  enough  in- 


36         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

come  so  that  her  natural  indolence  prevented  her  from 
seeking  work  at  posing  for  younger  and  less  scrupu 
lous  painters  who  might  have  been  delighted,  for 
more  reasons  than  would  have  been  apparent  on  the 
surface,  to  jot  her  name  and  address  down  in  the 
small  books  wherein  they  kept  available  young  women 
listed. 

But  still  a  duty  rested  on  him — the  duty  which  he 
had  explained  to  her  that  evening.  No  one  else  was 
looking  after  her;  it  was  unquestionably  his  place  to 
do  what  he  found  possible  to  do. 

He  laughed.  "I  might  have  been  her  father!"  he 
reflected. 

Alston  would  be  just  the  man  with  whom  to  talk 
the  matter  over.  Undoubtedly,  in  a  small  place,  like 
Belleville,  where  well-educated  girls  were  prosperous 
and  not  likely  to  be  looking  for  employment,  there 
was  some  old  woman  who  wished  to  have  books  read 
to  her,  some  parents  looking  for  a  polished  governess 
for  youngsters — and  Bettina  spoke  French,  German 
and  Italian:  spoke  them  well,  for  he,  himself,  had 
taught  her,  and  was  fairly  grounded  in  the  common 
rudiments  of  other  knowledge,  for  he  had  seen  to 
it  that  she  went  through  a  New  York  grammar  school 
and  then  a  high  school.  She  had  an  uncanny  trick 
of  learning  and  did  not  forget.  Many  and  pathetic 
had  been  the  complaints  made  of  her  by  her  teachers, 
but  none  had  ever  said  she  would  not  study,  or  was 
stupid.  She  would  make  an  ideal  governess  for  little 
children — if  it  did  not  chance  that  she  decided  to 
scratcji  out  their  eyes  or  drown  them. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         37 

He  pondered  long  upon  these  possibilities,  because 
to  one  who  knew  her  as  he  did  they  were  so  obvious. 
She  had  made  a  very  strong  appeal  to  him,  when  she 
had  been  a  little  child,  she  had  been  the  only  little 
child  whom  he  had  ever  known  except  to  viciously 
dislike,  but  it  was  highly  probable  that  parents  might 
object  to  having  their  young  darlings  martyred  at 
the  hands  of  a  cub  tigress,  even  though  he,  Murfree, 
wished  to  help  that  little  tigress  on  to  the  fine  and 
competent  young  womanhood  which  circumstances,  at 
the  moment,  seemed  likely  to  deny  to  her.  No;  he 
would  not  try  to  find  her  a  position  as  teacher  of  the 
young;  he  would  try  to  find  her  a  position  as  com 
panion  to  the  aged,  or  assistant  to  midway-maturity. 

And,  just  as  he  reached  this  sage  decision,  Alston 
came. 

"Well,  well — you  dear  old  painter  of  good  pic 
tures  ! — how  are  you  ?"  the  lawyer's  voice  was  saying 
before  he  really  had  entered.  And  as  he  entered  he 
laid  both  hands  on  Murfree's  shoulders,  held  him  off, 
and  contemplated  him. 

"Was  your  train  late,  or  have  you  been  starving  me 
for  old-time's  sake?  You  never  cared  for  food,  so 
very  much,  if  I  remember  rightly,"  Murfree  grumbled, 
as  he  shook  his  caller's  hand  with  fervent  joy,  and 
hustled  him  into  the  room  and  to  a  place  before  the 
dusty,  flickering  gas-log. 

"Train  was  late,"  said  Alston.  "No  snow  here  in 
New  York  City,  but  in  the  country — why,  the  woods 
are  full  of  it — six  feet  deep.  We  had  a  fight  till  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 


38         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"You  must  be  hungry,  then." 

"Can't  stop  thinking  about  food  and  drink,  can 
you  ?"  cried  Alston  happily.  "You  never  could.  How 
well  I  remember  when  you  smuggled  chicken-pie  into 
the  dormitory,  hid  it  in  my  bed,  and  then,  before  you 
could  confide  in  me,  got  changed  into  the  other  wing 
for  some  of  your  infernal  deviltries — painting  ballet- 
girls  upon  the  chapel  walls,  I  think  it  was.  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  chicken-pie,  and  when  I  went  to  bed  I 
found  it  unexpectedly.  I  sat  in  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Murfree,  wrathily,  "and  spoiled  it." 

"Spoiled  the  pie?  Of  course  I  did.  I  thought  it 
was  a  nest  of  vipers.  It's  a  sad  and  solemn  moment, 
Tommy,  when  one  plunges  one's  bare  body,  at  the 
dead  of  night,  into  an  unexpected  chicken-pie!  I 
spoiled  the  pie,  and  spoiled  the  midnight  silence — and 
the  dormitory  rules,  and  my  own  record." 

"Heavens!  I  can  hear  you  yet,  you  Indian!  You 
sounded  like  a  bugle  with  hysterics." 

"Everybody  heard  me,  not  excluding  prexy.  And 
you  remember  what  I  got  for  it?" 

"Yes;  and  served  you  right  for  yelling  like  a  girl 
who  sees  a  mouse,  when  you  were  merely  sitting  in 
delicious  pastry.  But,  Alston,  I'll  say  this  for  you, 
old  chap,  you  never  told  who  put  the  pie  there." 

"Of  course  I  never  told." 

"Some  of  the  fellows  would  have." 

"Not  any  of  our  crowd!  Imagine  old  Fred  Hoff 
man  telling!" 

"No ;  he  would  have  kept  it  quiet,  but  not  everyone 
is  a  Fred  Hoffman." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         39 

"Not  anyone  but  Fred  is  a  Fred  Hoffman." 

"Tell  me.     How  is  Fred?" 

"He's  as  grouchy,  and  successful,  and  dominant, 
and  egotistical,  and  good-hearted  as  he  ever  was." 

"Happy,  is  he?" 

"Why,  I  think  so.  He  thinks  not.  To  hear  him 
talk  you  would  believe  him  miserable.  He's  always 
finding  that  the  times  are  worse  than  they  have  ever 
been,  his  business  is  continually  going  to  the  dogs,  his 
son  is  frivolous  and  idle — a  fine  boy,  Murfree,  Harry 
is :  just  like  his  father;  his  daughter — she's  the  dearest 
girl !  more  like  her  mother — well,  his  daughter's  being 
educated  in  a  convent,  started  a  year  and  more  ago, 
and,  while  Fred  declares  it  is  a  wild  and  idiotic  scheme 
to  send  a  girl  away  from  home,  he  really  is  very 
proud  of  the  fine  fact  that  she  will  have  a  chance  to 
learn  what  he  calls  'fripperies'.  Oh,  Fred's  all  right 
— if  you  don't  listen  to  his  stories." 

"He's  made  money,  damn  him,  and  so  have  you." 

"What  does  money  count,  old  fellow?  You,  your 
self,  have  preached  to  me,  hours  at  a  time,  that  money 
is  the  root  of  evil  and  was  made  for  one  thing  only — 
to  be  spent." 

"I've  learned  some  things  since  then." 

As  they  talked  Alston's  eyes  were  roving  round  the 
dimly  lighted  studio.  There  were  not  many  decora 
tions  in  it.  None  of  the  canvases  on  view  were  fin 
ished.  Murfree  noted  with  a  keen  amusement  that, 
as  they  roved,  his  eyes  shrank,  somewhat,  from  the 
cluttering,  half -painted  nudes.  There  was  no  false 
modesty  about  him — it  was  real  embarrassment.  He 


40         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

never  mentioned  that  he  felt  it  in  the  studio,  but 
Murfree  knew  of  it,  and  joyed  in  the  distress  the 
nudes  occasioned.  He  was  certain  this  could  not  have 
been  much  more  acute  had  all  the  undraped,  uncom 
pleted  paint-and-canvas  ladies  been  full  born  and  made 
of  flesh  and  blood. 

It  was  probably  because  he  knew  that,  and  because, 
with  Alston's  presence,  a  bit  of  the  old  malicious 
pleasure  in  another's  keen  embarrassment,  which  had 
been  so  vivid  in  his  college  days,  returned  to  him,  that, 
rising,  he  went  from  one  great  canvas  to  another, 
seeking  for  the  one  which  would  most  notably  be 
shocking  to  his  friend.  He  found  a  wood  nymph, 
beckoning  to  a  satyr  and  had  placed  his  hands  upon  it, 
ready  to  convey  it  to  the  small  circle  of  good  light 
about  the  fire-place,  anxious  to  observe  his  friend's 
face  as,  politely  but  unwillingly,  he  looked  at  it,  and 
then  to  shout  with  loud,  derisive  laughter  at  his 
shrinking,  when  he  bethought  himself  that  on  this 
canvas  were  Bettina's  face  and  form  preserved  for 
the  frank  study  of  the  present  and  ensuing  genera 
tions  of  the  world  at  large.  As  he  wished,  especially, 
that  Alston  should  think  well  of  her,  for  her  own 
sake,  he  hesitated,  turned  the  canvas  to  the  wall,  pro 
duced  another  one  which  showed  another  model,  and 
.denied  himself  the  joy  of  watching  Alston.  Instead, 
while  the  latter  was  engaged  trying  to  appreciate  the 
picture  fairly,  not  to  condemn  it  definitely  and  at 
once,  which  it  was  his  tendency  to  do,  he  casually 
concealed  all  other  canvases  which  happened  to  reveal 
Bettina's  face  sufficiently  so  that  later  the  old  lawyer 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE          41 

might  remember  it  and  recognize  her  from  Tt.  Thus 
he  hid  Bettina,  thoroughly,  as  he  believed,  although 
he  quite  forgot,  in  truth,  a  little  canvas  he  had  given 
Alston,  not  more  than  six  months  before,  which 
showed  the  girl  as  Undine — beautiful,  alluring,  beck 
oning  the  responsive  waves  to  rush  to  her,  embrace 
her. 

"Fine,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  at  length,  turning  back  to 
Alston,  who  was  still  pretending  to  be  looking  at  the 
first  painting  he  had  called  to  his  attention.  In  reality 
his  eyes  dodged  it.  Such  things  actually  hurt  him — 
always  had.  He  had  even  stood  there  with  his  eyes 
closed  tightly,  pretending  to  be  looking. 

"Er — wonderful!"  said  Alston.  "Ah — it  seems  to 
me,  old  chap,  that  you  are — er — improving  year  by 
year." 

"I'll  bet  your  eyes  are  glazed  by  fright  till  you 
can't  see  it,"  said  the  artist.  "You  may  turn  them 
from  it,  if  you  like.  You  have  gazed  at  it  enough  to 
be  polite." 

"Really — it's  very  lovely,"  Alston  murmured. 
"Only — well,  we  won't  go  into  that  again.  But  the 
world  has  spent  a  good  share  of  its  effort  and  its 
income  to  devising  and  creating  clothes  for  human 
beings.  The  fact  that  they  wear  clothes  is  that  thing 
which  most  proves  their  high  superiority  above  the 
beasts.  I  never  could  quite  understand  why  it  was 
thought  especially  good  art  to  show  them — er — espe 
cially — er — females — without  any  of  the  high  result 
of  mankind's  highest  evidence  of  progressive  eleva 
tion." 


42         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,  Alston — that's 
the  reason,  doubtless,  why  I  see  the  beauty  only  and 
no  harm  in  it." 

"And,  by  implication,"  Alston  replied,  laughing, 
"that's  the  reason,  in  reverse,  why  I  see " 

"Exactly  so.     Exactly  so." 

The  artist  took  the  canvas  off  the  easel  and  stood  it, 
face  to  wall,  where  the  lawyer  could  not  even  see  the 
back  of  it  Then  he  led  him  to  a  chair  before  the 
fire  and  sank  into  one  adjoining.  But  his  malice  was 
not  spent. 

"YouVe  found  the  law  remunerative,  haven't  you  ?"• 
he  asked. 

"Why,  yes;  fairly  so,"  said  Alston.  "Can't  com 
plain." 

"Um — and  so  pure!"  breathed  Murfree,  with  a 
sigh  as  of  regret  that  he  had  passed  a  sanctified  pro 
fession  by  and  taken  up  such  devil's  work  as  painting 
pictures. 

Alston  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  "There — 
you've  put  it  over  on  me,"  he  cried  heartily.  "Can't 
you  call  a  truce  ?" 

"Divorce  work,  very  largely,  yours  has  been,  old 
fellow,  hasn't  it?"  asked  Murfree. 

Alston  threw  his  hands  up.  "Help!  Help!  I  am 
beaten!"  he  admitted.  "Yes,  I've  handled  many 
cases." 

But  a  little  later,  in  a  graver  mood,  he  returned  to 
this  especial  detail  of  discussion.  "I've  not  taken  dirty 
cases,  Murfree.  When  a  man's  been  tied  to  someone 
who  was  very  terrible,  I've  helped  him  out.  Some 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         43 

women,  man,  are  horrid  beyond  power  of  words  to 
tell." 

"But  never  men?" 

"Some  men  are  worse  than  any  woman  ever  was," 
said  Alston,  with  finality.  "I've  helped  more  women 
out  than  men." 

Murfree  laughed  with  boyish  pleasure.  "Same  old 
Alston.  In  your  heart  you're  the  identical  kid  who 
licked  Biff  Dangerfield  because  he  called  the  German 
dining-room  girl  a  'fraulein'.  Remember,  do  you? 
You  didn't  know  a  word  of  German,  and  thought 
'fraulein'  must  be  some  part  of  speech  of  'frowsy'. 
Thought  he  had  insulted  her.  Beat  him  to  a  pulp." 

Alston  laughed.  "Well,  he  deserved  it,  upon  gen 
eral  principles." 

"Sure  enough,  he  did !  Are  you  as  gallant  now  as 
then?" 

Alston  looked  up  quizzically.  "Try  to  be.  But  I've 
not  licked  anybody  lately,  though  I've  heard  far  too 
many  vile  things  spoken  about  women." 

"Anxious,  as  you  ever  were,  to  help  them  when 
you  can?" 

"Every  bit,"  said  Alston  heartily.  "Every  bit — • 
and  then  some." 

"That's  why  you  get  divorces  for  'em?" 

The  lawyer's  face  was  serious  as  he  replied:  "It 
has  been  so  more  than  once." 

"Well,  I  think  I've  got  a  job  for  you." 

"Divorce?  Why,  Murfree!  Of  course,  if  there  is 
any  lady  who  wants  to  be  divorced  from  you,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  give  my  services.  God  knows,  if  she  can 


44.         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

be  divorced  from  you,  she  needs  my  help.  When  were 
you  married  ?" 

"No;  she's  not  in  need  of  help  as  serious  as  that. 
The  woman  who  would  marry  me  would  not  deserve 
assistance.  It's  not  a  woman  I  am  thinking  of,  at 
all ;  it's  a  young  girl." 

"Worse  yet!" 

"She  needs  help  worse,"  said  Murfree.  Then  he 
settled  in  his  chair  and  gave  himself  a  little  shake  as  if 
he  threw  off  some  disinclination.  "I'm  going  to  tell 
you  the  whole  story — it's  a  short  one.  Briefly  the 
sad  tale  is  this :  I  was  in  love,  once,  and " 

"You  were  in  love  one  hundred  and  seven  times 
that  I  remember,"  Alston  answered.  "I " 

"I  mean  really  in  love.  The  girl  liked  me,  too, 
but  thought  my  art  was  foolish,  decided  that  it  never 
could  produce  an  income,  in  which  estimate  she  was 
exactly  right,  and  threw  me  over,  very  justifiably." 

"You  probably  were  lucky  to  escape  her — if  she'd 
do  that." 

"I  was.  But,  still,  that  doesn't  matter.  You'd  have 
fewer  cases,  probably,  if  young  people  thought  more 
about  money  before  they  rushed  up  to  the  altar." 

"Go  on.  Don't  stop  to  spout  philosophy.  Your 
spoutings  always  are  such  twaddle." 

"Well,  she  wouldn't  marry  me,  when  the  pinch 
came.  She  married  someone  else." 

"Someone  with  money?" 

"Someone  everyone  believed  would  be  a  rich  man 
early." 

"And  he  wasn't?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         45 

"No;  he  turned  out  bad.  Lost  his  bank  job  be 
cause  he  speculated,  then  took  to  gambling,  then  to 
drinking.  Then  he  went  down  and  out.  He  was  ab 
solutely  no  good  in  the  world.  Then  she  married 
someone  else.  A  worse  one  of  the  same  sort.  She 
and  her  children — I'll  admit  it  is  her  children,  mostly 
— have  to  buy  his  board  and  clothes." 

There  was  a  vibrant  tone  of  sympathy  in  Alston's 
voice  as  he  spoke  now.  Finding  that  the  tale  which 
all  their  banter  had  led  up  to  very  intimately  touched 
the  life  of  this  dear  friend,  he  instantly  regarded  it 
with  real  respect.  It  was  a  trait  of  his— one  of  the 
many  traits  which  made  men  love  him.  "And  you 
want  to  help  her?"  he  inquired.  "Is  there  something 
I  can  do?" 

"No,"  said  Murfree,  "I  don't  want  to  help  her. 
She's  become  a  rather  terrible  old  woman — not  so 
very  old,  perhaps,  but  very  terrible.  I  guess  I  was  a 
lucky  dog." 

"Well?" 

"But  she's  got  a  daughter,  Alston,"  Murfree  said, 
not  very  comfortably. 

He  was  planning,  he  had  suddenly  become  aware, 
to  play  it  rather  low  on  his  friend. 

"She's  got  a  daughter;  and  it's  the  girl  I  want  to 
help."  He  wondered  if  he  could  be  doing  violence  to 
friendship  by  refraining  from  the  revelation — that 
the  daughter  was  a  model.  "I've  sort  of  watched  her, 
and  she  needs  to  get  out  of  the  city." 

"Health  bad,  eh?" 

"Er— it's  not  exactly  that." 


46         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Murfree  did  not  know  just  what  to  say.  He  was 
asking  Alston  to  introduce  the  girl  into  some  friend's 
house — and  he  must  be  very  careful.  He,  himself, 
did  not  believe  a  model  to  be  necessarily  undesirable 
— he  had  known  many  whom  he  fondly  thought  to 
be  good  girls.  This  may  have  been  because  of  his 
superior  discernment;  it  may  have  been  because  of 
heaven-sent  innocence  and  trustfulness  and  blindness. 

"It's  not  exactly  that,"  he  said  again.  "It's  that  I 
think  she'd  better  get  away  from — well,  there's  a 
young  musician — a  pianist,  sort  of  a  composer,  whom 
I  think " 

"Ah,  unmaking  matches,  are  you?  That's  what 
you  criticized  me  for." 

"I'm  trying  hard  to  do  it  before  it  is  too  late  to  do 
it  thoroughly.  I'm  preventing.  Prevention's  worth 
a  pound  of  cure,  you  know." 

"Well,  what  about  the  girl?" 

"I  wondered  if  you  didn't  know  some  place  there, 
where  you  live,  where  she  could  earn  an  honest  living 
as  companion,  or — er — something  of  that  kind.  She 
knows  a  sort  of  housekeeping — the  poor  kind  that 
girls  learn  in  little  flats;  she  can  sew  some — for  she 
has  to  make  her  own  clothes,  and  they're  always  rather 
pretty;  she  can  read  aloud  quite  well  and  knows 
French  and  German.  I  taught  her  French,  myself." 

"Then  she  speaks  it  well,  old  man." 

"Yes,  she  really  does.  And  she  can  play  and  sing. 
This  chap  that  I'm  afraid  she'll  marry — he's  no  good, 
in  the  world,  you  know — but  he's  rather  a  high-class 
musician  and  she  keeps  up  with  him — I  heard  him 
say." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE         47 

"What  a  paragon!" 

"Oh,  she's  not  a  paragon!  She's  got  a  temper, 
sometimes,  that  would  make  the  fiend  himself  go 
into  some  still  room  in  Hell  and  sob  with  envy;  but 
she  only  shows  it  to  close  friends — like  me.  She'd 
never  let  it  slip  its  leash. before  a  stranger." 

"Only  bites  the  hand  that  feeds  her,  eh?  Well, 
that's  like  all  women — good  and  bad.  The  trait  is 
feminine." 

"Shut  up !  I'm  not  a  woman-hater,  please  remem 
ber,  though  I've  had  it  rougher,  far,  than  ever  you 
did." 

"It  proves  you  to  be  truly  of  the  art  artistic,  as 
we  used  to  say  in  the  old  days.  One  who  is  of  the 
art  artistic  never  does  have  sense." 

"Piffle!" 

"Wisdom!  Wisdom  is  the  lawyer's  stock  in  trade, 
you  know." 

"Keep  such  wisdom  for  your  clients.  They'll  pay 
fees  for  it  and  never  know  you're  cheating  'em.  But 
I'd  like  to  have  this  girl  get  some  sort  of  a  show, 
in  life." 

"I  don't  think  of  any  chance  for  her,  at  present; 
but  if  you  say  she  is  worth  helping,  why,  I'll  try  to 
help.  I — like  to  help!" 

There  was  a  strangely  sweet,  benevolent  expres 
sion  on  the  aged  lawyer's  face,  as  he  said  this,  and 
Murfree  caught  it. 

"You  damned  old  fraud!  Of  course  you  like  to 
help!  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  it?" 

"Well,   now  that   that   is   settled — now   that   I've 


48         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

agreed  to  find  a  job  for  your  old  sweetheart's  daugh 
ter — if  I  can — where  composers  don't  corrupt  nor  yet 
musicians  burglarize  and  steal,  let's  go  to  dinner. 
I'm  half-starved.  You  probably  did  not  intend  to 
feed — I  have  the  thought  that  artists  often  don't; 
but " 

"It's  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Murfree,  grinning. 
"I've  never  capitalized  my  genius  as  a  liar,  as  the 
men  in  some  professions  do,  but  I've  not  gone  neces 
sarily  hungry  since  I  left  the  Latin  Quarter,  twenty 
years  ago." 

"Then  why  do  you  starve  me?" 

Murfree  went  to  get  his  hat  and  coat,  feeling 
rather  satisfied  with  what  he  had  accomplished.  He 
was  glad  Alston  had  not  asked  him  if  the  girl  had 
ever  worked,  and,  if  she  had,  at  what;  if  he  had 
told  him  she  had  posed  for  him — like  that!  He  ar 
gued  with  himself,  convincingly,  that  Bettina  was  a 
good  girl — so  far  as  the  essentials  went;  that  he  had 
not  imposed  upon  his  old  pal's  friendship  in  asking 
his  assistance  for  her;  he  was  glad  that  he  had  hid 
den  all  the  canvases  which  she  had  posed  for. 

"Come  on  and  eat,"  he  said,  when  he  returned.  "I 
know  a  place  where  they  can  actually  make  bouilla- 
baise — a  heavenly  stew,  of  which,  as  you  have  never 
been  in  Paris,  you  have  never  known  the  joys." 

Next  morning,  when  he  had  told  Bettina  what  he 
had  been  planning  for  her,  that  beautiful  young  per 
son  showed  scant  gratitude.  She  was  crouched  upon 
an  old  bearskin,  close  by  the  radiator,  waiting  for  the 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         49 

steam  to  get  sufficient  head  to  make  the  airy  costume 
of  the  nymph  she  was  to  personate  less  tempting  to 
pneumonia. 

"What,  I  ?"  she  cried,  in  that  high  treble  to  which 
her  voice  rose  when  she  was  excited.  "I — off  there 
in  the  country — reading  to  some  deaf  old  woman,  or 
— or — stewing  lamb!" 

"Bettina,"  Murfree  answered  kindly,  "I'm  going 
to  tell  you  why  I  hope  you'll  go — if  the  chance 
comes." 

"You'll  have  to  do  some  telling!" 

And  he  did  do  some  telling,  but  without  great  ef 
fect.  His  arguments  that  her  present  life  could  not 
lead  her  to  successful,  happy  womanhood  were  fu 
tile;  his  statements  that  he  feared  her  marriage  to 
Sevigny  would  result  in  tragedy  provoked  her 
laughter. 

"Poor  Theodore!  We've  never  even  talked  of  mar 
riage!" 

Murfree  was  nonplussed.  "You've  never  talked  of 
marriage!  What  have  you  talked  about?" 

She  flared  at  him.  "Marriage!  Marriage  is  all 
right  if  it  means  money;  but  what  is  it  if  it  does  not? 
My  mother's  marriage  shows!  Her  certificate  was  a 
through  ticket  to — you  know  the  place!" 

"I  loved  your  mother  once,  Bettina.  That's  why  I 
have  endeavored  to  be  kind  to  you." 

"Yes;  she  told  me.  Are  you  glad,  or  sorry,  that 
she  didn't  marry  you?  Would  you  have  been  a 
happier  man  if  she  had  married  you?  I  don't  believe 
you  would !  Would  she  have  been  a  happier  woman  ? 


50         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

How  could  she  have  been?  If  you'd  had  a  wife  and 
family  to  support  on  what  you've  made  out  of  your 
pictures,  you'd  not  have  done  much  better  by  them 
than  poor  dad  has,  in  spite  of  all  his  gambling  and 
drinking.  Dad's  a  bad  lot.  I  know  that.  But  he  has 
raised  us — somehow!" 

"You  don't  propose  to  marry,  then?" 

"I  didn't  say  that.  I  only  said  I  never  thought  of 
marrying  Theodore  Sevigny,  and  he  never  thought  of 
marrying  me." 

"Then  you're  too  much  together." 

"Bah!  In  the  first  place  I  know  the  wisdom  of 
really  being  careful.  You  needn't  fear — I'll  not  throw 
my  life  away  that  way.  But  wait  till  I  get  mar 
ried!" 

There  was  a  gleam  of  sophistication  in  her  eyes 
which  almost  scared  him. 

"You  will  be  safer,  then,  eh  ?"  he  suggested  sourly, 
disapprovingly. 

"Don't  be  a  beast  to-day.    Still,  that's  true  enough." 

"I  want  too  many  things  to  think  seriously  about 
Theodore,"  she  went  on,  slowly,  tapping  her  bare 
foot  upon  the  floor.  She  had  pulled  the  bearskin 
up  about  her  and  sat  at  ease  before  him.  "He  knows 
I  want  too  many  things.  He  couldn't  get  them  for 
me — unless  he  sold  a  comic  opera,  and  he  won't  try 
comic  operas — he  writes  better  things — the  things 
that  never  bring  returns." 

"You're  only  building  misery  for  you  and  him, 
then,  by  being  with  him,  always." 

She  sat  in  gloomy  silence. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  one  of  those  unfortunates  who 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         61 

must  have  money  if  they  are  to  enjoy  life,"  he  pres 
ently  went  on.  "You  might  get  it  if  you  took  some 
chance  like  that  which  I  am  planning  to  discover  for 
you." 

"How  might  I?"  The  lovely  lips  curled  skepti 
cally;  the  robe  which  she  had  caught  around  her 
silken  shoulders  slipped  as  they  relaxed,  and  she  had 
to  catch  it  to  her  tightly;  her  big  eyes^ looked  up  at 
Murfree  with  real  interest. 

"By  making  a  good  marriage.  There  are  pros 
perous  young  men  out  in  Alston's  town  whom  you 
might  make  happy." 

She  laughed,  somewhat  scornfully. 

"Who  might  make  you  happy,  then,  if  that's  the 
better  way  to  put  it." 

"Is  it  a  rich  place — Belleville?" 

"The  richest  little  city  in  the  state." 

The  steam  had  warmed  the  room  and  she  took 
the  pose,  without  a  word  from  him,  which  was  un 
usual,  and  held  it  without  slanging  him,  without  pro 
test  from  him,  which  was  still  more  unusual.  Dur 
ing  the  rest  periods  she  sat  in  moody,  studious 
silence.  When  they  lunched  together  she  said  very 
little.  When  the  light  began  to  fail  and  he  laid  down 
his  palette  she  went  behind  the  screen  to  dress  with 
out  a  word.  It  was  while  she  was  engaged  there 
that  she  reached  her  great  decision,  calling  out  to 
him: 

"All  right;  Belleville  for  mine — if  you  can  get  it 
for  me.  But  I  warn  you — if  I  go  there,  I  shall  own 
it;  I  shall  steal  it.  I  just  won't  be  poor  I" 


CHAPTER   III 

Next  day,  as  Alston  bustled  about  town,  his  mind 
continually  reverted  to  his  various  talks  with  Mur- 
free.  He  was  very  fond  of  Murfree. 

"The  man  is  lonely,"  he  reflected.  "That  is  why 
he's  bitter." 

And  he,  himself,  was  lonely.  They,  two  lonely 
single  men,  had  much  to  say  about  the  failure  of  the 
modern  marriage  to  supply  actual  happiness  to  other 
men  and  women,  but — what  else  did?  It  had  been 
lack  of  it  which  had  left  their  own  lives  barren. 

On  street  corners,  everywhere  about  town,  stood 
collectors  for  the  Salvation  Army,  each  garbed  in 
the  red,  fur-trimmed  coat  and  long  white  whiskers 
of  a  Santa  Claus,  ringing  a  little  bell,  pointing  to  an 
iron  pot  hanging  from  a  tripod  and  covered  with 
wire  netting  of  coarse  mesh.  Through  this  mesh  the 
public  was  invited  to  drop  coins  to  be  used  in  pur 
chasing  a  mammoth  Christmas  dinner  for  the  city's 
poor.  The  counterfeit  saints  represented  the  great 
Christmas  spirit,  which  is  particularly  that  of  family 
life,  and  so  they  emphasized  the  gloom  of  his  reflec 
tions. 

As  he  glanced  resentfully  at  one  of  these  pic 
turesque  and  lawful  mendicants  a  tiny  girl  ran  up 
to  the  gay  beggar  and  held  her  hand  out  while  she 

52 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE         53 

gazed   into   his    face  with  wondering,   trustful  eyes. 

"Mr.  Sandy  Claus,  will  you  s'ake  hands  wiz  me?" 
she  asked. 

Santa,  being  more  intelligent  than  most,  did  so 
with  alacrity  and  a  bright  smile,  asking  her,  more 
over  (while  her  parents  stood  close  by,  smiling  some 
what  doubtfully),  what  she  would  like  to  have  for 
Christmas.  She  told  him  confidentially,  whispering 
into  his  ear  when  he  bent  over.  The  parents  waited, 
after  having  dropped  a  quarter  through  the  wires 
into  his  pot  to  "keep  it  boiling." 

They  had  not  gone  far,  after  she  had  left  the  saint 
and  joined  them,  when  the  child's  mother  hurried 
back  and  held  a  hasty  conversation  with  the  Santa 
Claus. 

Alston  could  see  the  father  up  the  street,  keeping 
the  child's  attention  focused  on  the  gay  display  in 
a  store  window.  He  caught  a  word  or  two  of  the 
brief  conversation  between  the  mother  and  the  beg 
gar.  She  had  run  back  to  find  out  what  the  child 
had  asked  for,  and  "Santa  Claus"  revealed  that  the 
little  girl's  petition  had  been  for  a  china  tea  set  and 
a  baby  brother. 

The  mother  smiled  a  little,  blushed  a  little,  as  if 
this  stranger  in  a  red  coat  had  surprised  a  family 
secret,  gave  a  final  quarter,  not  to  the  greedy  pot, 
but  to  the  ready  hand  of  "Santa  Claus,"  and  went 
her  way. 

The  lawyer  felt  singularly  futile,  singularly  lonely, 
as  he  hurried  on,  after  he  had  watched  the  trio  till 
they  vanished  in  the  merry  crowd  of  Christmas 


54         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

shoppers  up  the  grimy  avenue.  Theirs  was  a  happi 
ness  which  he  could  never  know.  Even  in  his  child 
hood  he  had  been  denied  the  joys  the  little  girl  was 
even  then  experiencing,  for  he  had  lived  in  the  deep 
country  with  a  strict,  unsentimental  uncle,  who  had 
not  let  him  "believe"  in  Santa  Claus.  Not  having 
married,  because  Anna  had  decided  upon  Fred,  not 
him,  since  he  had  reached  maturity  he  had  also  been 
denied  the  joys  of  parenthood.  How  he  envied  the 
fond  father  whose  big  hand  had  clasped  the  crumpled 
rose-leaf  fist  of  this  dear  child  as  they  had  stood  at 
that  shop  window !  How  he  envied  Hoffman !  How 
he  envied  happiness! 

Ah,  what  he  and  poor  old  Murfree  had  missed  out 
of  life!  It  was  with  a  solemn  face  that  he  passed 
into  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel,  which  would  take 
him  to  the  station  whence  his  home  train  would  de 
part,  and,  although  he  had  not  previously  made  the 
startling  trip  beneath  the  Hudson,  he  was  scarcely  con 
scious  of  the  details  of  the  unique  journey.  The  wide, 
electric-lighted,  cement-floored  cars,  with  their  white 
metal  rods  for  the  "standees,"  and  their  wholly  use 
less  windows,  offering  a  continuous  panorama  of 
close  and  dripping  tunnel  walls;  the  sparse  crowd  of 
returning  Christmas  shoppers,  bundle-burdened,  and 
most  of  them  tired  out,  would  have  closely  held  his 
interest  had  he  been  less  absorbed  by  his  grim 
thoughts.  Now  he  scarcely  noted  them.  Yet  it  was 
a  variation  of  the  Christmas  spirit  that  presently  be 
gan  to  work  in  him.  He  was  too  healthy-minded  to 
waste  time  upon  self -sympathy.  His  own  life  had 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE         55 

gone  wrong;  now  what  could  he  accomplish  to  save 
other  lives  from  a  like  fate?  How  full  existence  is 
of  misses!  How  infinitely  hard  should  strong  hearts 
strive  to  lift  the  gloom  a  little  for  other  weaker  hearts 
who  cannot  help  themselves! 

Murfree,  in  telling  him  the  story  of  the  girl  for 
whom  he  sought  employment,  had  omitted  much  and 
emphasized  everything  which  would  be  likely  to  make 
sympathy  for  her,  although,  of  course,  Alston  did  not 
know  this.  And  so  his  altruism  now  turned  naturally 
to  her.  And  by  assisting  her  he  also  might  help  Anna. 

His  first  hour  in  the  smoking-room  of  the  westward 
speeding  Pullman  was  devoted  to  consideration  of  this 
case.  He  wanted  to  give  Christmas  presents — wanted 
to  with  something  which  amounted  almost  to  a  pas 
sion.  He  longed  for  someone  to  imbue  with  joy — 
someone  all  his  own — but,  lacking  someone  of  his  own, 
could  he  do  better  than  to  help  this  girl  to  whom  Mur 
free  had  referred,  than  to  help  Anna,  in  whose  service 
he  ever  was  so  ready  to  enlist  ? 

He  would  speak  to  Anna  of  her,  as  soon  as  he 
reached  Belleville.  The  situation  in  the  Hoffman 
family  would  be  ideal  for  her,  and  Anna,  his  friend's 
wife,  his  lost  sweetheart,  needed  someone.  She  was 
getting  old.  They  all  were  getting  old.  He  was,  him 
self,  past  fifty;  Fred  was  a  year  his  senior;  Anna  must 
be  forty-five,  or  more,  and  her  hair,  like  Fred's  and 
his,  was  whitening.  Yes,  he  would  help  the  girl,  and, 
helping  her,  help  Anna  and  himself.  It  did  help  him 
— helped  everyone — to  do  kind  deeds.  It  had  been 
kind  of  Murfree  to  suggest  it — Murfree  who  also 


56         THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

looked  back  on  a  wasted  life!  He  sighed  and  called 
the  porter  to  make  up  his  berth. 

Snow  was  falling  steadily  when  he  awoke,  and  the 
train  was  hours  behind  time.  The  slowly  whirling 
landscape  was  smothered  in  its  coverlet  of  white;  at 
one  stop  he  watched  with  interest  the  operations  of 
a  lineman's  gang  as  they  repaired  "down"  wires, 
sagged  and  broken  by  the  weight  of  moist,  clinging 
snow.  Scheduled  to  reach  Buffalo  before  early  break 
fast  time,  the  train  was  without  a  diner  and  no  break 
fast  was  obtainable,  although  it  was  close  to  nine 
o'clock.  He  had  had  an  early  dinner  the  preceding 
day,  so  he  would  have  been  uncomfortable  enough 
even  had  the  car  been  rightly  warmed,  but  it  was  not. 
He  felt  forlorn  and  continued  his  reflections,  casting 
on  them  even  deeper  gloom  than  yesterday's.  Yes, 
his  life  was  wasted;  Murfree's  life  was  wasted.  What 
did  all  this  conservation  folks  were  talking  of  amount 
to?  Forests?  Water-power?  The  coal  supply? 
Bah!  They  were  unimportant.  What  men  must  try 
to  save  were  their  own  lives! 

And  instantly  his  lawyer's  mind  caught  up  that 
answer  which  it  had  just  given  itself,  and  called  it 
into  sharp  analysis.  It  was  not  their  lives  at  all  that 
men  should  save.  Why  labor  for  the  preservation 
of  so  poor  a  thing  as  the  average  man's  life?  Life? 
Life?  What  did  life  mean — frankly,  honestly  and  ana 
lytically — to  him,  for  instance?  Nothing  very  joy 
ous,  that  was  certain;  yet  his  was  an  existence  in 
finitely  happier  than  that  of  the  majority.  What  did 
life  mean  for  Murfree?  Less  than  it  meant  for  him! 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         57 

What  might  life  mean  for  the  girl  whom  Murfree 
spoke  of,  if  she  did  not  speedily  have  help?  What 
did  life  mean  for  Anna?  Much  it  had  meant,  doubt 
less;  little  it  meant  now,  he  feared. 

Nothing  could  be  truer  waste  than  the  salvation  of 
some  lives ;  their  preservation  was  extravagance ;  they 
meant  nothing  after  they  were  saved.  True  conser 
vation  would  entail  the  giving  to  them  of  a  meaning.' 
To  preserve  comfort  and  save  self-respect  was  bigger 
than  to  salvage  life.  He  must  make  this  the  thesis 
of  one  of  his  jabberous  arguments  with  Hoffman,  who 
would  not  agree  with  him. 

Yet  what  was  Hoffman  getting  out  of  life,  although 
much  there  was  which  he  might  get  from  it?  De 
spite  the  blessings  which  had  showered  upon  him — a 
perfect  wife  (had  not  he  striven  for  her  himself?); 
prosperity,  a  manly  son  and  charming  daughter — • 
Fred  became  grouchier  with  each  succeeding  year,  ap 
parently  less  satisfied,  readier  to  find  fault.  What 
ailed  him?  Had  he  no  appreciation?  How  infinitely 
he  was  really  blessed  above  most  men!  How  richly 
had  he  been  endowed,  compared,  for  instance,  to  him 
self  and  Murfree! 

When  the  train  had  finally  crawled  into  Belleville, 
nosing  through  the  snow,  hours  late,  and  losing  time 
with  every  revolution  of  its  wheels,  he  gathered  all 
his  Christmas  packages  together  and  alighted  heavily. 
He  felt  older  than  he  ever  had  before,  and  his  ap 
petite  for  breakfast  had  departed.  He  determined  to 
send  everything  to  the  hotel — he  lived  at  the  hotel, 
and  how  he  hated  thought  of  it  that  morning! — and 


58         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

go  straight  to  his  office.  He  hoped  things  would  run 
smoothly  there.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  a  hard  day. 

There  was  no  hack  in  waiting,  the  trolley  tracks 
were  blocked  by  the  deep  snow,  and  so,  on  foot,  he 
'struggled  through  the  narrow  and  far  from  continu- 
fous  pathway  which  already  had  been  shoveled  along 
the  main  streets  of  the  little  city— incongruously 
fronted,  now  by  a  block  of  business  buildings,  now 
by  a  block  of  residences,  left  from  the  old  village 
days,  and,  invariably,  upon  this  street,  very  solid,  very 
ugly,  very  elegant.  Most  of  them  were  square,  of 
brick,  topped  by  equally  square  cupolas,  suggesting 
large  and  comfortable  rooms  within,  but  vile  offenses 
against  beauty,  despite  their  spacious  lawns,  whereon 
the  habitual  evergreens  were  weighted  almost  to  the 
breaking  point  with  snow,  and  the  cast-iron  deer  were 
almost  buried. 

As  he  neared  the  largest  of  these  cubical  and  solemn 
residences  he  glanced  at  it  with  a  new  curiosity.  Much 
of  his  speculation  on  the  train  had  been  devoted  to 
its  occupants,  for  it  was  "Fred"  Hoffman's  residence, 
had  been  his  father's  and  his  grandfather's  before 
him,  and  would  be  Harry's,  doubtless,  after  "Fred" 
had  gone.  It  looked  grave,  respectable  and  compe 
tent,  but,  Alston  decided,  remarkably  thick-headed. 
It  suggested  only  comfort,  yet  he  felt  certain  that 
when  the  master  of  that  house  had  left  that  morn 
ing  he  had  done  so  with  a  frown,  after  having  found 
fault  with  the  weather,  with  his  breakfast,  with  his 
son,  with  business,  very  likely  with  his  absent  daugh 
ter,  and  almost  surely  with  his  wife.  Such  had  be- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         59 

come  Fred  Hoffman's  way.  What,  therefore,  was 
the  use  of  the  great  house  and  spacious  lawn  with 
evergreens  and  two  cast-iron  deer?  The  lawyer 
smiled  somewhat  wryly  as  he  realized  the  pessimism 
of  his  thoughts  and  tried  to  charge  them  to  his  lack 
of  breakfast,  although  he  knew  quite  well  that  they 
must  rightfully  be  charged  to  other  lacks,  more 
serious  by  far. 

As  he  passed,  "Barbie,"  who,  with  a  mammoth 
broom,  was  struggling  to  remove  the  snow  from  the 
brick  pathway  leading  from  the  street  gate,  saw  him 
and  ran,  lurching,  down  to  greet  him.  Barbie  was 
a  character  with  many  privileges.  She  had  been  a 
servant  in  the  Hoffman  household  long  before  its 
present  master  married. 

The  snow  was  deep  and  falling  steadily,  but  she 
was  not  dismayed  by  it ;  shod  in  mighty  rubber  boots, 
she  floundered  by  the  shortest  cut  to  the  stone  fence 
and  smiled  across  it  at  him. 

"Hello,  Barbie!"  he  cried,  trying  to  be  genial. 

"Morning,  Mr.  Alston.  Why  don't  you  come  right 
in  to  breakfast?  Poor  thing!  Know  you  haven't  had 
any.  Come  in!  The  old  gentleman  has  gone  down 
to  the  office,  and  Mr.  Harry's  gone  with  him,  but  the 
coffee's  hot,  and  I'll  have  some  eggs  and  bacon  ready 
in  a  jiffy.  You'll  like  it  better,  probably,  than  Mr. 
Hoffman  did.  He  almost  snapped  my  head  off!" 

He  wavered,  yielded.  He  knew  that  she  could  safely 
take  such  liberties  as  asking  him  to  breakfast,  and  he 
wanted  to  secure  an  opportunity  for  talk  with  Anna. 
He  admired  no  woman  more.  The  love  which  he 


60         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

once  had  felt  for  her  had  been  modified  into  the  fine 
respect  a  man  should  feel  for  his  friend's  wife. 

"Good  morning,  Anna,"  he  said  cordially,  as  she 
came  forward,  greeting  him.  "Barbie  has  asked  me 
in  to  breakfast."  He  smiled  whimsically,  as  if  he 
wished  to  have  the  invitation  confirmed. 

"Barbie  is  always  right,"  she  indorsed  cordially. 

"Humph!  I  wish  Mr.  Hoffman  thought  so,"  Bar 
bie  ventured,  evidently  filled  with  bitter  memories  of 
some  unappreciative  comment. 

Anna  Hoffman  was  a  striking  figure  as  she  stood 
and  smiled  at  Alston,  ignoring  the  complaint,  while 
Barbie  took  his  hat  and  coat,  fur  gloves  and  heavy 
muffler. 

Anna's  graying  hair  and  finely  lined,  aristocratic 
face,  her  tall,  carefully  groomed  figure,  plainly,  but 
exceedingly  well  dressed,  were  indicative  of  a  very 
definite  personality.  Her  slim,  peculiarly  white  hands, 
rare  among  the  residents  of  small  American  cities, 
were  as  aristocratic  as  her  finely  chiseled  countenance ; 
and  she  was  graceful. 

Alston  looked  at  her  with  a  fresh  interest,  due  pos 
sibly  to  mere  absence  for  a  week  from  town  and 
sight  of  her,  more  likely  to  be  properly  attributed  to 
the  talks  which  he  had  had  with  Murfree  about  olden 
days  and  his  reveries  upon  the  train.  Anna  had  been 
the  detail  which  had  made  Fred's  life  superior  to  his 
and  Murfree's.  Why  wasn't  the  man  happier?  He 
loved  Hoffman  with  that  undemonstrative  man's 
affection  which  sometimes  lasts  from  college  days, 
extending  through  maturity,  and,  when  it  does,  be- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         61 

comes  one  of  the  finest  types  of  human  love;  but 
there  had  been  times  when  he  had  envied  him  almost 
enough  to  really  affect  that  friendship.  Everything 
had  been  his  from  the  start.  In  college  he  had  had 
more  money  than  any  of  the  boys;  when  his  college 
days  had  ended  he  had  stepped  from  them  into  the 
business  which  had  become  his  own  upon  his  father's 
death,  a  few  years  afterward.  This  business  he  had 
settled  down  to  with  a  dogged  resolution,  doubling 
it  and  trebling  it  until  it  had  become  a  really  great 
enterprise. 

Everything,  it  seemed  to  Alston,  as  he  thought 
about  it,  had  gone  smoothly  with  Fred  Hoffman — 
he  had  won  the  woman  whom  he  loved;  his  circum 
stances  had  been  more  than  comfortable;  he  had  two 
lovely  children,  a  fine,  manly  boy  and  a  sweet  girl; 
he  was  a  man  of  eminence  in  his  part  of  the  state; 
he  had  nothing  to  look  back  upon  with  much  regret; 
he  had  never  sown  wild  oats — he  had  never  had  a 
chance  to.  Yet  he  doubted  if  his  annual  balance  sheet 
of  happiness  and  sorrow  showed  a  higher  profit  than 
his  own.  Why?  Why? 

Wherein  had  the  world  gone  wrong  with  him  ?  He 
wondered  if  it  could  be  that  the  world  had  offered 
him  monotony — a  monotony  of  money-profit,  cer 
tainly,  and  a  monotony  of  domestic  happiness,  of 
steady,  ceaseless,  notable  achievement.  Nothing  had 
come  easily  to  him,  but  nothing  had  presented  such 
great  difficulties  that  by  the  exercise  of  able  persever 
ance  he  had  not  been  able  to  attain  it.  He  had  had 
no  downs.  .That  the  up  had  been  a  gradual  rise  may; 


62         THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

have  robbed  it  of  some  interest;  perhaps  the  man's 
life  had  lacked  drama.  He  wondered  if  it  could  be 
that — wondered  as  he  sat  opposite  the  woman  he, 
himself,  had  hoped  to  marry,  and  watched  her  as  she 
drew  his  coffee  from  a  silver  urn  belonging  to  an 
other  man. 

"Of  what  can  you  be  thinking  so  intently?"  Anna 
asked  him,  as  she  handed  him  his  coffee.  "I  hope 
your  New  York  trip  was  not  a  disappointment  to 
you." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Alston,  smiling  back  at  her, 
"it  was  successful.  I  did  everything  I  went  to  do, 
and  one  thing  which  I  did  not  even  think  of  doing 
till  I  had  begun  the  journey.  It  was  a  very  pleasant 
trip.  I  must  confess  that  I  was  tempted  to  remain 
another  day  or  two  when  I  read  in  the  newspapers 
of  the  deep  snow  here  at  home." 

"The  deepest  we  have  had  for  years,"  she  answered 
placidly.  It  was  plain,  and  Alston  made  a  mental  note 
of  it,  that  deep  snow  or  no  snow  at  all  made  little 
difference  to  her.  Hers,  at  least,  was  a  contented 
mind,  even  if  he  felt  assured  that  Hoffman's  was 
not. 

"They  must  be  snowed  in  in  the  country  districts." 

"They  have  had  to  send  out  teams  with  plows 
to  break  the  roads." 

"Didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  thought  of  having 
some  young  woman  here  to  help  you,  if  you  could 
find  the  right  sort,  Anna?" 

"Yes;  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,  but  I  scarcely 
know  just  where  to  look." 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE         63 

"Humph!"  said  Barbie,  who  was  listening,  and  in 
stantly  intensely  jealous.  "Don't  I  help  enough?" 

"You're  as  good  as  fifty,  Barbie,"  Anna  answered, 
smiling  with  her  comfortable  calm,  "but  we  both  need 
help." 

"Needn't  get  me  any!"  Barbie  left  with  a  tremen 
dous  sniff. 

Alston  laughed.  "Perhaps  I've  made  myself  un 
popular  with  Barbie,"  he  suggested.  "I  hadn't  thought 
of  that.  But  I  remembered  you  were  talking  about 
getting  someone — someone  who  could  read  aloud,  who 
knew  something  about  music,  and  who  could  help  the 
youngsters,  when  they  were  at  home,  with  one  of  the 
various  languages  in  which  it  is  considered  necessary 
nowadays  that  youngsters  become  proficient" 

"Yes;  but  I  want  such  a  paragon!  I  doubt  if  I 
shall  find  one." 

"I  rather  think  I  have  discovered  the  very  paragon 
you're  looking  for.  Old  Murfree — dear  old  chap, 
he's  not  got  much,  but  still  is  always  helping  someone ! 
— told  me  of  her  in  New  York.  He  takes  an  interest 
in  her  because  he  used  to  love  her  mother.  She  threw 
him  over  for  a  worthless  stick,  and  now  the  family 
is  in  some  straits,  I  understand.  I  imagine  that  he 
tries  to  help  them  variously." 

"How  very  nice  of  him!" 

"Old  Murfree  has  a  sweet  and  mighty  soul.  He's 
worried  about  her.  He  fears  she's  falling  in  love 
with  someone  he  does  not  approve  of.  I  think  he 
called  him  a  musician — that  is,  I  know  he  called  him 
something  more  emphatic,  but  I  think  he  said  the 


64         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

man  is  a  pianist  and  composer.  Murfree  seems  to 
think  that  if  the  girl  remains  in  New  York  City  she 
may  marry  him,  and  that  her  life  will  be  a  miserable 
existence  if  she  does." 

"Did  you  see  her?" 

"Yes;  and  she  seemed  rather  ladylike — quite  well 
bred,  indeed.  She  speaks  German  and  French,  plays, 
sings,  reads  aloud  divinely,  Murfree  says,  and  has 
learned  such  housekeeping  as  careless  mothers  teach 
their  daughters  in  those  little,  bandbox,  New  York 
flats.  Not  much,  I  guess.  What  homes!  Like  cells 
in  a  honeycomb — or  penitentiary.  But  she  could  take 
a  good  deal  off  your  hands,  and  she  would  be  amus 
ing,  Anna.  I  thought  of  you  at  once  when  Murfree 
spoke  of  her." 

"It  was  very  nice  of  you.    Have  you  her  address?" 

Alston  copied  it  for  her  from  his  vest-pocket  note 
book. 

"I  shall  write  to  her  at  once.  Fred  thinks  the  plan 
of  having  some  one  who  is  not  definitely  a  servant  is 
quite  silly ;  but  I  tell  him  that  I'm  getting  old,  as  well 
as  he,  and  that  he  has  young  Valentine,  down  at  the 
works,  for  just  about  what  I  wish  some  one  for,  here 
at  the  house.  And  he  will  soon  have  Harry  also." 

"Don't  let  him  bulldoze  you,"  said  Alston,  laughing. 
"All  men  are  selfish.  Really,  we  are  beasts.  I've  been 
feeling  it  acutely  since  I've  been  away." 

"I  shall  never  think  that  either  Fred  or  you  could 
be  a  beast,"  said  Anna.  "How  different  you  are  from 
other  men!" 

"Yes,  Fred  with  his  grouches,  which  mean  nothing, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         65 

and  I  with  my  wishes,  which  accomplish  nothing !  We 
are  very  useless!"  He  rose.  "It  was  a  delightful 
breakfast.  Thank  Barbie  for  me.  Shall  I  write  old 
Murfree  that  you'll  give  his  protegee  a  trial?" 

"Tell  him  that  I'm  writing  to  her,"  Anna  answered. 

Christmas  Eve  was  always  an  occasion  at  the  Hoff 
man  residence.  This  year  Anna  and  Barbie  for  the 
first  time  in  their  lives  called  in  help  to  raise  the  dec 
orations,  but,  when  they  were  completed,  sank  wearied 
into  two  chairs  to  view  them.  Barbie  looked  at  them 
with  jaundiced  eye.  She  had  not  approved  of  the  as 
sistance,  although  she  had  admitted  that  her  legs  were 
"breaking  off  where  they  grew  on"  after  she,  herself, 
had  tried  an  hour  upon  the  stepladder. 

"Bells  ain't  in  the  middle  of  either  of  them 
wreaths  at  the  two  sides  of  the  piano,"  she  said 
wrathily.  "Looks  cross-eyed.  Where'd  she  put  that 
ladder?" 

Anna  smiled  at  her  and  put  a  hand  upon  her  arm. 
"Never  mind  them,  Barbie.  They're  quite  right 
enough.  Save  your  strength  for  all  the  cooking.  You 
say  you'll  have  no  help  but  Ann  Eliza,  in  the  kitchen, 
and  she's  so  incompetent.  You'll  need  all  your  en 
ergies  and  the  wreaths  are  straight  enough." 

"Think  so?"  said  the  old  and  privileged  servant. 
"Wait  till  Mr.  Hoffman  sees  'em!  Wait  till  the  old 
gentleman  gets  sight  of  'em!  Next  thing  to  taking- 
money  from  nis  safe,  late  years,  is  to  let  anything 
hang  crooked.  Did  she  take  the  ladder  downstairs, 
Mrs.  Hoffman?" 

"Never  mind  them,  Barbie.    They're  all  right.   Mr. 


66         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Hoffman  won't  say  anything  about  them.  You  must 
get  over  the  idea  that  he  is  so  cross." 

Barbie  looked  at  her  with  some  astonishment.  "Get 
over  the  idea  that  he  is  so  cross !"  said  she.  "How's 
a  body  to  get  over  the  idea  that  he's  cross  unless  he 
stops  being  cross.  Cross!  My  knees  begin  to  tremble 
before  he  turns  in  at  the  gate.  Let  me  get  the  lad 
der " 

Anna  made  a  gesture  of  amused  despair.  "Well,  if 
you  wish  to,  Barbie,  but  you  mustn't  be  afraid  of  Mr. 
Hoffman.  He  barks  a  little  more  than  he  once  did, 
but  he " 

"Doesn't  bite?"  asked  Barbie,  starting  for  the  lad 
der.  "I  ain't  sure  he  won't  bite  me  some  day.  Mrs. 
Hoffman,  I  wish  you'd  seen  him  stick  his  head  out 
toward  me  at  the  breakfast  table!  I  nearly  dropped 
the  coffee-urn.  And  all  I'd  done  was  let  the  toast 
[fall!" 

"You  have  too  much  to  do,"  said  Anna,  smiling. 
"That's  why  I  have  been  thinking  about  having  some 
one  here  to  help  a  little.  Don't  you  see." 

"But,  Mrs.  Hoffman,  I "  ' 

Anna  laughed.  "You  old,  jealous  thing!  She  shan't 
go  near  the  kitchen — ever.  But  /  need  some  one.  I 
am  getting  old,  Barbie,  and " 

"Well,  if  it's  for  you,  all  right,  if  you  want  any 
body.  If  you're  willing  to  admit  you're  getting  old; 
but  as  for  me — well,  Mrs.  Hoffman,  I  won't  have  any 
one  around  my  kitchen  bothering!  I  think  I've  got 
the  right  to  say;  been  in  that  kitchen  thirty  years:  I 
won't,  Mrs.  Hoffman." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         67 

"All  right,  Barbie;  all  right.  And  she  hasn't  come 
yet.  She  may  not  care  to  come;  if  she  comes  I  may 
not  like  her.  I've  only  just  this  moment  written.  The 
letter's  not  yet  in  the  mail." 

"Better  keep  it  out,  then,  I  say." 

In  the  thrill  of  worry  over  this  new  enterprise, 
through  which  might  come  encroachment  on  her 
kitchen,  Barbie  forgot  about  the  straightening  of  the 
wreaths,  as  she  went  about  the  work  of  hanging  other 
Christmas  greens.  Then  came  the  tying  up  of  pack 
ages  with  holly  ribbon,  and  their  arrangement  on  the 
hat-rack,  ready  for  delivery  when  the  boy  came  from 
the  mills  to  run  about  with  them,  and  the  prepara 
tion  at  the  kitchen  door  of  another,  larger  pile,  of 
bulkier  gifts — a  pile  from  which  tied  feet  of  turkeys 
bristled,  to  be  delivered  on  a  wagon  to  chosen  work- 
ingmen  and  the  few  otherwise  uncared-for  needy  of 
the  prosperous  little  town.  Mrs.  Hoffman  always  gave 
this  matter  closer  thought  than  any  one  else  in  the 
small  city;  so  elaborate  were  her  Christmas  benefac 
tions  of  this  kind  that  the  church  charities  had  only 
their  own  poor  to  look  after.  And  this  pile  grew  as 
Barbie  and  the  negress  worked  steadily  and  well.  It 
may  be  mentioned  that  the  negress  did  this  under  pro 
test,  and  that  Barbie  met  her  plaints  with  continually 
increasing  vigor.  Finally  came  dusk,  and  then  the 
early  darkness  of  the  short  winter  day. 

Suddenly  a  door  slammed.  At  the  moment  Ann 
Eliza  was  bound  on  a  cross-kitchen  journey,  bearing 
in  her  arms  a  tower  of  tinware.  Barbie  started  at  the 
slamming  of  the  door  as  if  an  electric  shock  had 


68         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

thrilled  her,  paused  where  she  was,  half -appre 
hensively,  and  then  turned  sharply  upon  Ann  Eliza, 
with  a  warning  finger  raised.  Seeing  the  tin  tower 
toppling,  she  warned  hissingly,  impressively,  accu 
singly  : 

"Don't  you  let  one  fall!  Don't  you  dare  to  drop 
'em!  The  old  gentleman  has  just  come  in.  The  old 
gentleman!" 

Startled,  Ann  Eliza  paused,  standing  with  a  droop 
ing  lower  jaw,  spellbound  by  fright.  "Why,  Miss 
Ba'bie,  Ah  wuz " 

The  tin  tower  swayed  every  second  in  a  wider  arc, 
and  its  guardian's  eyes  were  rolling,  noting  every 
thing  but  that. 

"They're  falling!"  Barbie  hissed.  "They're  falling. 
Stop  'em.  The  old  gentleman " 

Crash !  went  the  tins  upon  the  floor. 

"Oh!  mercy,  mercy,  mercy!"  exclaimed  Barbie,  flut 
tering  with  apprehension.  "Mercy,  mercy,  mercy!" 

"Well,  now,  Miss  Ba'bie." 

Barbie  scarcely  looked  in  the  direction  of  the 
frightened  negress.  "Wait !"  was  all  she  said. 

Nor  was  the  waiting  long.  Within  a  moment  the 
kitchen  door  swung  open  and  in  it  there  was  framed 
the  angry,  florid  features,  the  tall,  rigid  form  of  the 
master  of  the  house. 

"What's  this  infernal  racket!"  he  said  bitterly. 
"This  place  sounds  more  like  a  boiler-shop  than  like  a 
kitchen." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hoffman,"  Barbie  explained  nervously, 
"you  see,  she — why  she  just  let  'em  fall." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         69 

"I  didn't  see,  I  heard,"  said  Hoffman.  "Such  a 
racket!  Try  to  be  more  careful,  can't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hoffman!" 

"  'Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hoffman !' "  he  mimicked 
angrily.  "It's  always  *yes>  sir,  yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hoffman,' 
but  the  racket  keeps  on  just  the  same." 

"Yes,  sir,  yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hoffman!"  Barbie  mur 
mured  in  distress,  but  the  door  had  closed  behind  the 
angry  man. 

"The  old  gentleman's  so  touchy  these  days!"  wor 
ried  the  aged  servant.  "No  matter  what  a  body 
does " 

Her  trembling  hands,  in  raising  one  of  the  fallen 
tins,  lost  grip  on  it  and  let  it  fall  again.  Terrified, 
she  sank  into  a  chair,  her  eyes  fixed  apprehensively 
upon  the  door,  but  he  did  not  return. 

She  was  just  serving  up  the  dinner  when  she  heard 
his  voice  again,  and  again  stopped  her  work  to  stand 
in  tremulous  apprehension  as  it  called  from  the  dining- 
room: 

"Barbie!    Barbie!" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hoffman,"  she  said  timidly,  as  she 
opened  the  swinging  door  to  answer  him. 

"Who  hung  those  wreaths  ?" 

"Oh,  land's  sakes  alive !"  she  cried,  in  new  distress. 
"If  they  didn't  slip  my  mind!  Mrs.  Hoffman  said  to 
me  that  you'd  be  angry ;  but  when  you  flew  at  me  out 
in  the  kitchen  when  Ann  Eliza  dropped  them  pans, 
I why,  Mr.  Hoffman — why,  you  see " 

He  looked  at  her  with  smoldering  annoyance  in 
his  eyes  and  his  broad  forehead  seamed  with  frowns. 


70         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"I  see  that  they  have  not  been  straightened,"  he  re 
plied.  "Now  straighten  them!" 

"Fred,"  said  Anna  quietly.  "Fred,  dear!"  She  was 
evidently  making  some  reminder. 

"If  you  please,"  he  added  fiercely.    "If  you  please." 

"Yes,  sir,  Mr.  Hoffman;  yes,  sir,"  Barbie  worried, 
and  started  toward  the  wreaths. 

"We  will  have  dinner  first,  Barbie,"  said  Anna  very 
quietly,  her  calm  unruffled.  "You  can  straighten  the 
wreaths  afterward."  She  turned  to  her  husband. 
"There  is  a  good  deal  of  extra  work  just  now,"  she 
said,  not  apologetically,  but  in  explanation.  "Barbie 
has  been  very  busy  getting  all  the  Christmas  cooking 
done."  Then,  to  Barbie :  "Bring  in  the  dinner,  Barbie, 
when  it's  ready." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Hoffman,"  said  the  flurried  servant. 
"But,  my,  I'm  so  flustered  now  I'll  likely  drop  the 
roast." 

"Very  likely,"  Hoffman  commented  discontentedly. 

"Fred !"  said  his  wife  reprovingly. 

When  Barbie  had  gone  out  and  let  the  swinging 
doors  fall  to  behind  her,  Anna  told  him  quietly  and 
unexcitedly  of  what  she  had  been  planning. 

"Mr.  Alston  ran  in  here  for  breakfast,"  she  began. 

"Ran  in  here  for  breakfast!"  exclaimed  Hoffman, 
plainly  much  surprised. 

"Yes ;  his  train  was  late  and  Barbie  saw  him  going 
by.  He  thinks  he  may  have  found  some  one  to  help 
me." 

"Help  you  to  do  what?" 

"And  help  Barbie." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         71 

"Help  her  throw  the  tinware  in  salute  when  I  come 
in?" 

Anna  Hoffman  paid  .no  heed  to  his  grumpiness. 
"We're  a  little  overstrained.  We  need  help." 

"Well,  if  you  need  help,  then  why  don't  you  get 
help?"  he  demanded.  "Where's  Harry?"  The  boy 
was  on  vacation  from  Columbia  Law  School. 

"He'll  be  along.  We  won't  keep  dinner  waiting  for 
him.  He  went  downtown  to  buy  Christmas  presents. 
And  he's  young,  you  know." 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  in  new  annoyance. 
"  'He's  young !'  of  course  he's  young.  Is  that  any  rea 
son  why  he  shouldn't  be  here  promptly  for  his  din 
ner?" 

"He  said  he  might  have  dinner  with  Mr.  Valentine. 
I  rather  hope  that  Valentine  may  interest  him  in 
Belleville  affairs.  He  finds  it  hard  to  care  much  for 
them — very  naturally.  And  in  two  more  years  he'll 
have  to." 

"Well,  it  won't  be  such  a  great  misfortune.  Any 
way,  he'll  have  to !" 

"Yes ;  poor  boy !    He'll  have  to." 

"  'Poor  boy !'  Nobody  'poor  boyed'  to  me  when  / 
had  to  settle  down." 

"Perhaps  you  might  have  understood  a  little  better 
if  some  one  had,  Fred.  You  missed  it,  didn't  you?" 

"It  made  no  difference,  if  I  did." 

"Well,  if  you  missed  it,  then  you  wanted  it;  it  would 
have  helped  to  make  you  happy.  Let's  do  what  we  can 
to  give  the  children  all  the  happiness  we  did  not 
have." 


72         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"There  are  other  things  than  happiness  to  be  con 
sidered  in  this  world!" 

"And,  Fred,  they'll  be  considered,  whether  we  wish 
them  to  be  or  whether  we  do  not." 

"You're  having  your  own  way  with  Beatrice.  She's 
getting  fancy  learning  at  that  convent — she's  getting 
quite  enough  for  the  whole  family.  This  law  school 
for  Harry  is  mere  foolishness." 

"He'll  settle  down,  dear,  when  he  has  to." 

"It's  already  time  he  started  in  to.  What  he  needs 
to  learn  is  not  a  lot  of  fancy  law  stuff,  but  the  busi 
ness — the  business  I  have  built  up  for  him." 

"Well,  Fred,  he  will,  when  the  time  comes."  Her 
heart  thrilled  with  worry  when  the  talk  took  channels 
of  this  sort.  She  was  constantly  afraid  her  husband 
would  take  Harry  out  of  Law  School. 

They  ate  dinner  in  a  silence  somewhat  grim,  and  it 
was  not  cheered  when  Harry  called  up  by  the  tele 
phone  rather  late,  plainly  as  an  after-thought,  to  say 
that  he  had  gone  to  dinner  with  Valentine,  his  father's 
superintendent  at  the  mills. 

Hoffman  heard  the  news  with  discontent.  "Valen 
tine  is  as  flighty  as  Harry  is  himself!"  he  grumbled. 

"They're  not  either  of  them  really  flighty,"  his  wife 
urged.  "They're  not  as  old  as  we  are,  Fred.  Valen 
tine  works  hard  enough,  and  Harry's  time  will  come." 

"  'As  old  as  we  are !' "  he  quoted  almost  angrily. 
"You'd  think  I  was  a  grandfather,  to  hear  you  talk!" 

"Well,  Fred,  it  probably  won't  be  very  long  before 
you  are  a  grandfather  and  I  a  grandmother.  Beatrice 
will  finish  school  this  year,  and  Senator  Stevenson 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         73 

came  in  this  afternoon — he's  home  for  the  Christmas 
adjournment — to  laugh  with  me  about  his  ward, 
Dorothy  Mason,  and  our  Harry.  He's  delighted  with 
the  prospect.  Aren't  you?" 

The  mention  of  the  Senator  gave  her  husband  some 
thing  to  consider  of  which  he  evidently  very  much  ap 
proved. 

"A  fine  old  statesman,"  he  said  unctuously.  "A 
gentleman  of  the  old  school.  He  was  just  becoming 
eminent  in  the  law  when  Alston  and  I  began  at  col 
lege." 

"Yes ;  he  is  a  fine  old  gentleman." 

"There,"  said  Hoffman  with  some  satisfaction. 
"You  may  call  him  old.  But  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
constantly  refer  to  me  or  to  yourself  as  'old.'  We're 
not  old,  Anna." 

"I  feel  old  sometimes,  Fred." 

There  was  a  sudden  peal  of  the  front  door  bell 
and  then  another  and  another.  Anna  started  up,  al 
most  frightened.  Hoffman  rose  annoyed. 

"Some  of  Harry's  friends!"  he  grumbled.  "Young 
ideas  of  humor " 

Anna  was  gazing  curiously  after  Barbie,  who  had 
hastened  from  the  kitchen,  and  turned  to  smile  at  him. 

"There!  You  see,  Fred?  We  are  getting  old. 
What  you  said  then  granted  it." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort." 

Barbie's  cry  of  joy  came  to  them  through  the 
opened  doors  which  she  had  left  behind  her. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  said  Anna. 

"Well,  why  don't  you  go  and  see  ?" 


7*         THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

But  there  was  no  opportunity.  A  lithe,  delighted 
girl  flashed  from  the  hall  and  clasped  her  arms  round 
Anna's  neck. 

"Mother !"  she  cried.  "You  never  dreamed  that  I'd 
come  home  for  Christmas,  did  you?" 

"Beatrice!"  said  Hoffman,  his  face  breaking  into 
smiles.  "How  you've  surprised  us !" 

"Dear  old  father!"  She  left  her  mother's  arms  and 
clung  to  him. 

A  youth  rushed  in  from  the  hall,  bearing  bags  in 
each  strong  hand. 

"Isn't  it  great?"  he  cried.  "I  saw  her  from  the 
hotel  window  as  she  stood  upon  the  station  platform 
looking  for  the  hack,  and  I  left  Valentine  and  din 
ner  with  a  rush.  He  can  eat  mine,  if  he  wants  to.  It 
was  me  for  home  and  little  sister  as  soon  as  I  saw 
her." 

"You're  a  dear  old  Harry!"  Beatrice  approved. 
"I'd  been  begging  to  come  home,  and  when  they  finally 
decided  that  I  might,  why,  /  decided  that  I  would  sur 
prise  you  all.  Sister  Gertrude  wished  to  telegraph, 
but  I  just  wouldn't  let  her.  How  are  you,  Barbie — 
dear  old  Barbie! — give  me  another  kiss.  Oh,  every 
body  kiss  me !  I'm  so  glad  to  be  here — and  I  can  stay 
until  the  thirty-first.  Can't  stay  for  New  Year's  day, 
but — why  don't  you  kiss  me?  I  don't  believe  you're 
glad  to  see  me !" 

Hoffman  watched  her  with  a  face  changed  utterly. 
For  the  moment  the  grim,  critical,  complaining  look, 
which  had  been  habitual  with  him,  of  late,  gave  way  to 
an  expression  of  delighted  joy.  Jlis  erect  and  youth- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         75 

ful  figure,  which  strikingly  contradicted  the  pro 
nounced  gray  of  his  hair,  towered  over  her,  and  he 
held  her  to  his  breast  again,  and  looked  down  at  her 
with  fine  pride. 

"Well,  that  convent  doesn't  seem  to  have  kept  you 
from  getting  tall !"  he  said,  with  a  father's  exultation. 
"You're  almost  a  button  higher  on  my  vest.  How  you 
have  shot  up!" 

She  threw  her  head  back,  laughing  at  him.  "I  was 
standing  on  my  tiptoes — because  I  am  so  glad.  Dear 
daddy,  I'm  through  growing  long  ago.  I'm  a  young 
lady  now.  You  really  must  remember  that !  They're 
very  careful  at  the  convent.  They  never  call  us  seniors 
girls.  We  are  young  ladies!" 

"Young  fiddlesticks!"  said  he,  and  pressed  his  arm 
about  her. 

Anna  looked  at  them  with  keen  delight.  No  joy 
could  have  been  greater  than  that  she  felt  at  seeing 
her  dear  daughter;  but  that  her  presence  seemed  sure 
to  quell  her  husband's  irritable  moods,  at  least  momen 
tarily,  gave  her  a  certain  additional  satisfaction  which 
she  might  have  been  unwilling  to  acknowledge,  even  to 
herself. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  New  York  studio,  old  Murfree 
was  having  with  Bettina  a  difficult  half -hour. 

"I'm  not  going!"  she  had  just  declared,  tapping  her 
foot  upon  the  model's  platform,  from  which  she  had 
been  sufficiently  long  absent  to  have  assumed  her  street 
costume.  "I'm  not  going — not  a  step.  What?  Into 
that  wilderness  ?  I  think  not !" 


ff6         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"But,  Bettina,  it  will  be  a  fine  thing  for  you! 
.Think !  You  won't  have  to  pose." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  posing." 

"But  you're  always  grumbling  over  it." 

"What  if  I  am?"  She  turned  large  eyes  upon  him, 
full  of  amazement  because  he  should  have  dreamed 
that  grumbling  meant  dissatisfaction.  "A  woman  has 
a  right  to  grumble." 

"Well,  it  will  be  better  for  you,  anyway.  It's  not 
good  for  you  to  pose.  It  hasn't  hurt  you,  probably, 
to  pose  for  me " 

She  laughed,  rippingly,  contemptuously,  and  her 
eyes  snapped.  "To  pose  for  you!  Oh,  you?  No; 
it  hasn't  hurt  me  any,  I  suppose,  to  pose  for  you. 
Wasn't  it  lucky  mamma  didn't  marry  you?" 

He  looked  at  her  bewildered. 

"Lucky?    How?" 

"Because  you  would  have  been  my  father.  And 
you  are  so  stupid !  I  never  could  have  stood  it." 

"Bettina,"  he  said  slowly,  "if  I  had  married  your 
mother  our — our  child  would  never  have  been  you,  or 
anything  like  you." 

She  laughed  again  insultingly — she  could  be  amaz 
ingly  insulting — and  turned  slow,  affronting  eyes  on 
him. 

"I'm  going  to  go,  though,  if  they  want  me,"  she 
admitted.  "I  was  tormenting  you.  I've  got  to  meet 
some  men  whom  I  can  marry.  Theodore's  waiting 
for  me  downstairs,  now,  I  think,  and  I  must  hurry  to 
him " 

Murfree  raised  his  hands  in  wrath.     "He'd  better 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         7Y 

wait  downstairs!"  he  cried.  "He'd  better  not  come 
up!  Pianists!  How  I  hate  them!  Bettina,  that 
man " 

"You  do  hate  them — him — don't  you?"  she  said 
calmly.  "Well,  I  can't  marry  Theodore.  I  wish  I 
could.  But,  Murfree,  I  will  not  be  poor!"  Her  mood 
went  through  one  of  its  quick  changes.  Quick 
changes,  in  Bettina's  moods,  were  frequent.  She  be 
came  almost  impassioned,  speaking  with  fierce  em 
phasis.  "I  won't  be  poor!  I  won't!  If  there  are 
rich  men  up  there,  then  I'll  go !" 

"After  that,  I  ought  to  write  and  tell  them  not  to 
have  you." 

"You  won't,  though.  You're  too  afraid  I'll  marry 
Theodore,  if  I  stay  here.  You  don't  understand  how 
utterly  impossible  it  would  be.  But  if  I  had  a  rich 
husband — from  the  country " 

He  burst  into  wrath.  "You  little  devil!  If  you 
had  a  rich  husband  from  the  country !  I  suppose  you 
mean  that  then  you  might  be  able  to  afford  your  Theo 
dore — afford  him  on  the  side,  eh?  You've  as  much 
conscience  as  a  cat!" 

"Don't  be  insulting,  please.    Still " 

"God,  Bettina!    If " 

A  heavy  step  outside  the  studio  door,  a  rustling  un 
derneath  it  and  the  shrill  trilling  of  a  whistle  an 
nounced  the  mail's  arrival.  Murfree,  shaking  his  head 
wrathily,  went  to  the  door,  picking  up  the  letter. 

"It's  from  Alston,"  he  announced,  as  he  examined 
it.  After  he  had  read  it  he  continued :  "They'll  ex 
pect  you.  Fred  Hoffman's  wife  has  written  to  you. 


78         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

He  has  fixed  it  for  you.  When  I  write  the  introduc 
tion  for  you,  shall  I  teH  them  that  you  wish  to  marry, 
there  in  Belleville — a  rich  man — so  that  you  can — ah — > 
afford  your  Theodore  Pianosmasher  ?" 

"You  won't,"  she  said  confidently.  "You're  too 
anxious  to  get  me  out  of  New  York  City  and  away 
from  him.  Sometimes  I  think  you're  jealous  of 
him." 

"Jealous  of  him!  God  Almighty!"  He  raised  his 
hands  in  helpless  wrath.  "Because  I  was  an  ass,  so 
many  years  ago  that  I've  forgotten  just  how  many, 
and  loved  your  mother,  who  preferred  a  drunkard; 
because  I've  tried  to  help  you,  for  the  sake  of  that  old 
love ;  because  I  wish  to  save  you  from  destruction  and 
give  you  a  fair  chance  in  life,  although  I  know  you'll 
never  take  the  right  advantage  of  it;  because  I'm  try 
ing,  really  and  honestly,  to  help  you,  you  insult  me  by 
declaring  that  I'm  jealous  of  that  damned  pianist!  I 
suppose  you  mean  that  I'm  in  love  with  you.  I'm  as 
much  in  love  with  you,  you  little  satiny  she-devil,  as 
I  am  with  any  other  pretty  snake !" 

The  outburst  did  not  in  the  least  impress  her.  In 
stead  she  gazed  at  him,  as  he  stood,  shaken  by  his 
wrath,  and  laughed  delightfully.  Her  merry  trills 
were  quite  extraordinary. 

"Well,  I  must  hurry  down  to  Theodore.  He  gets 
angry  if  I  keep  him  waiting!" 

"Your  Theodore!  I'd  like  to  choke  him!  I  wish 
you'd  marry  him!  Heavens,  he  deserves  it!" 

She  paid  no  attention  to  this  vicious  shot,  but  ran 
gaily  from  the  room. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         79 

It  was  hours  before  old  Murfree  could  sufficiently 
compose  himself  to  write  to  Alston,  saying  that  his 
protegee  would  leave  New  York,  as  the  lawyer's  letter 
had  suggested,  so  that  she  would  reach  Belleville  early 
on  the  first  day  of  the  year. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Snow,  snow,  and  still  more  snow  marked  Christmas 
Day  at  Belleville.  Each  of  the  plows  which  made 
the  streets  a  possibility  for  traffic  was  hauled  by  four 
strong  horses,  few  of  the  sidewalks  had  been  cleared 
by  noon,  house  yards  communicating  through  slender 
paths  with  the  narrow  cuttings  in  the  roadways,  which 
had  been  provided  with  occasional  niches  in  which 
pedestrians  could  take  refuge  when  sleighs  passed. 

And  sleighs  were  passing  on  Main  Street  con 
stantly,  in  time  to  the  music  of  chimed  bells  jingling, 
and  the  even  merrier  lilt  of  laughter.  All  morning  came 
bobsleds,  laden  with  brisk  parties  from  near  rural  dis 
tricts,  the  women  bundled  into  balls  of  woolens,  the 
men  red-cheeked,  with  steaming  breath,  each  driving 
his  weary  horses  with  one  hand  while  he  slapped  the 
other  on  his  mighty  coat  to  warm  it.  As  the  forenoon 
progressed,  sleighs  of  a  fancier  shape  and  glossier 
emerging  from  the  city  barns,  bore  as  elaborately,  al 
though  less  uncouthly  bundled,  town  parties  toward 
the  country — parties  wrapped  in  furs,  rather  than  in 
woolens.  But  whether  they  were  wrapped  in  furs  or 
woolens,  all  were  laughing,  singing,  the  women  and 
girls  screaming  at  the  "thank-you-ma'ams,"  the  men 
and  boys  intensely  busy  with  brisk  animals  enlivened 
by  the  frosty  air,  or  engaged  in  husbanding  of  robes 

80 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         81 

which,  now  and  then,  masked  sly  but  earnest  hugs  of 
waists  slim  underneath  their  multitudinous  wrappings, 
but  so  guarded  against  cold  that  it  now  required  long 
arms  to  get  about  them.  Arms  long  enough  were 
ready  for  the  task. 

In  the  houses  of  this  prosperous  little  city  merri 
ment  reigned  supreme.  There  were  poor  in  Belleville, 
but  that  dire  poverty  which  in  the  greater  cities  makes 
the  Christmas  season  saddest  of  all  times  to  those  who 
know  and  understand  was  here  so  rare,  so  understood 
and  so  well-cared  for,  that  it  nowhere  swung  its  som 
ber  flag  of  misery  upon  the  open  highways.  Ann 
Eliza's  pickaninnies  were  wrapped  in  so  many  tatters 
that  they  did  not  mind  the  cold ;  they  had  sumptuously 
breakfasted;  they  knew  that  in  the  oven  a  great  tur 
key,  gift  of  Mrs.  Hoffman,  was  already  hidden,  and 
would  be  ready  early,  so  that  their  mother  might  pre 
sent  it  to  their  greedy  little  paunches  before  going  to 
assist  in  serving  dinner  at  the  big  house  on  Main 
Street;  their  black  hands  were  muffled  in  brand-new 
red  mittens  from  the  A.  M.  E.  Church  Christmas  tree, 
which  had  glittered  bravely  the  night  before,  and  their 
pockets  bulged  with  Christmas  fruits  and  nuts  and 
sweets.  In  a  town  like  Belleville  the  American  Christ 
mas  shines  its  brightest ;  there,  really,  "peace  on  earth, 
good-will  to  men"  seems  somewhat  actual;  frowns  of 
discontent,  harsh  voices,  sorrow,  are  all  rarities  upon 
the  holiday. 

Yet  in  the  big  house  on  Main  Street  where  the  Hoff- 
mans  lived,  where  reigned  prosperity,  where,  in  the 
early  morning,  shouts  and  laughter  had  rung  out  as 


82         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Beatrice  and  Harry,  held  by  their  mother  to  be  still 
children  on  this  day,  discovered  what  their  gifts  were, 
where  Barbie  worried  over  countless  goodies  in  the 
kitchen  and  the  pantry,  where  no  material  thing  was 
lacking  to  make  the  day  a  feast  of  plenty,  there  was 
apparent,  none  the  less,  a  taint  of  discontent.  The 
master  of  the  house  was  finding  it  a  difficult  matter  to 
present  a  smiling  face  to  those  who  greeted  him,  his 
voice  rasped  a  little,  his  smile  was  not  invariably  quite 
genuine. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  had  he  been  required  to 
make  a  statement  of  his  reasons  for  his  lack  of  Christ 
mas  feeling,  he  would  have  found  the  task  beyond  his 
power.  Probably  he  would  have  passed  it  off  as  the 
involuntary  expression  of  his  worry  over  a  bad  busi 
ness  year,  as  the  first  of  January,  with  its  balance- 
striking  neared;  but  such  an  explanation  would  have 
touched  but  the  surface  of  reality. 

In  fact,  his  discontent  was  outgrowth  of  the  ac 
cumulated  dissatisfaction  of  a  lifetime  spent  at  effort 
far  too  concentrated.  It  was  the  bitter,  deep  dissatis 
faction  of  the  business  man  who,  having  won,  finds 
that  he  has  paid  a  great  price  for  his  victory,  half 
realizes  that  in  his  constant  fighting  there  has  been  lit 
tle  time  for  living,  and,  as  the  years  advance  inexor 
ably,  discovers  that  his  taste  for  play,  even  his  ability 
to  really  enjoy,  has  lessened,  as  he  has  won  the  means 
and  opportunity  for  its  indulgence. 

As  he  had  sat  at  breakfast,  with  his  charming 
daughter  at  one  side  of  the  table,  his  bright  and  ener 
getic  son  upon  the  other,  and,  across  the  board,  his 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         83 

quiet,  placid  wife — smiling,  even  though  his  nervous 
grouchiness  toward  her  was  constant — he  found  it 
necessary  to  continually  battle  with  his  growing  and 
insistent  dissatisfaction.  He,  himself,  was  somewhat 
appalled  by  the  emotions  which  distressed  him.  He 
did  not  try  to  analyze  them;  he  did  not  stop  to  tell 
himself  that  if  his  life  had  been  largely  barren  of  ev 
erything  but  effort,  the  fault  had  been  his  own,  born  of 
an  overmastering  ambition  for  success  which  had  not 
tolerated  leisure  moments,  which  had  rushed  through 
the  years,  wrapped  in  an  absorption  so  complete  that 
it  had  scarcely  vouchsafed  to  himself  the  time  to  learn 
•how  to  enjoy. 

It  may  have  been  the  realization  that  his  son  and 
.daughter  were  approaching  real  maturity  which  made 
him  suddenly  compute  how  many  years  had  passed, 
how  few  remained  to  him;  it  may  have  been  an  un 
expected  visualization  of  the  gray  in  his  wife's  hair, 
or  the  fact  that,  rising  very  late  for  him  and  dressing 
with  unusual  leisure,  he  had  stared  long  and  earnestly 
into  the  mirror  in  the  bathroom,  and  for  the  first  time 
fully  realized  that  time's  flight  was  becoming  plain  on 
his  own  head. 

Whatever  had  occurred  to  flood  the  knowledge  on 
him,  it  had  come  with  an  overwhelming  rush,  and, 
coming,  had  dismayed  him,  angered  him.  Ever  since 
then  he  had  been  fighting  it  away,  denying  it,  and  this 
futile  struggle  against  fact  had  put  him  in  no  placid 
frame  of  mind. 

He  seemed  to  see,  that  morning,  with  an  unusually 
clear  vision,  and  what  he  saw  was  principally  age— « 


84         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

his  own  and  Anna's — more  Anna's  than  his  own.  If 
the  youngsters'  youth  impressed  him,  it  was  to  annoy. 
Even  while  he  railed  at  fate  for  having  rushed  him  out 
of  childhood  to  maturity,  pausing  for  no  intermediate 
period,  he  railed  at  his  own  young  for  their  indul 
gence  in  that  very  inconsequentiality  which  he  re 
gretted  having  missed. 

The  spirits  of  his  children,  however,  were  too  viv 
idly  alight  with  youth  to  be  extinguished,  or  even  seri 
ously  dimmed  by  their  father's  gloomy  and  forbidding 
mood;  indeed  they  were  not  definitely  conscious  that 
his  face  was  more  severe  than  usual,  that  his  laughter 
came  more  grudgingly,  holding  a  rasping  note,  that  his 
words  to  Barbie  were  less  gracious  than  they  had  been 
of  old.  They  did  not  realize  that  his  fitful  study  of 
their  mother's  face  was  not  once — not  for  an  instant 
> — smiling.  Absorbed  by  youth's  fine  egotism,  filled 
with  the  wonder  of  their  own  development,  busy  with 
their  own  bright  gossip,  they  did  not  dream  that  as 
they  talked  of  all  the  joys  they  knew  which  he  had 
never  known,  their  father,  who,  to  them,  was  inter 
ested  only  in  important,  grave  affairs,  and,  so  far  as 
they  knew,  always  had  been  somber,  stern,  never 
yearning  otherwise,  was,  in  truth,  filled  with  a  cer 
tain  envy  of  them,  even  with  a  certain  feeling  of  of 
fense  that  they  enjoyed,  upon  his  bounty,  such  gaiety 
as  his  life  had  had  far  too  little  of.  And  had  any  one 
told  Hoffman  that  at  that  Christmas  breakfast  he  was 
jealous  of  his  own  offspring,  angry  with  his  wife  for 
having  aged,  his  denials  would  have  been  not  less 
than  vehement ;  yet  these  things  were  exactly  true. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         85 

That  there  were  those  among  the  lines  in  his  wife's 
face  which  had  been  put  there  by  his  own  unceasing 
dominance,  not  always  too  considerate ;  that  there  were 
others  there,  born  of  her  share  in  that  struggle  for  suc 
cess  which  he  believed  had  been  entirely  his  own 
herculean  effort;  that  had  he  given  her  an  easier  life 
there  might  have  been  far  fewer  silver  strands  among 
the  rich  brown  of  her  hair,  he  did  not  dream,  far  less 
acknowledge.  That  poor  Barbie's  awkwardness, 
tremulous  fears  of  his  complaints,  slow  service  were 
manifestations  of  the  same  advance  of  years  which 
made  him  notice  them  did  not  occur  to  him. 

Far  from  being  filled  with  the  right  spirit  of  the 
day,  therefore,  he  found  it  difficult  to  share  at  all  in 
the  fine  happiness  of  the  young  people;  his  wife's 
veiled  glances  of  reproach  when  he  spoke  crabbedly 
did  not  reprove  him,  but  exasperated  him ;  he  was  un 
consciously  a  little  pleased  that  Anna  was  undoubtedly 
aware  of  his  unpleasant  state  of  mind;  he  found 
Barbie's  fear  of  his  sharp  grumbling  almost  an  agree 
able  tribute  to  his  power;  he  was  indefinitely  angered 
when  he  saw  that  Beatrice  and  Harry  were  alike  un 
conscious  and  unaffected  by  his  dissatisfaction. 

Before  the  first  meal  of  the  holiday  had  really  ended 
he  rose  abruptly  from  the  table. 

"I'm  going  to  the  mills,"  he  muttered,  as  the  others 
raised  their  eyes  in  question. 

"What?  On  Christmas  day?"  said  Anna  mildly, 
but  astonished. 

"Yes;  on  Christmas  day."  His  voice  was  pettishly 
ill-natured. 


86         THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

"But,  Fred " 

He  was  indefinitely  ashamed ;  and  the  shame  further 
angered  him.  "It's  been  a  vicious  year — a  vicious 
year,"  he  said,  half  in  excuse.  "And  with  this  fine 
young  lady  and  this  fine  young  gentleman  eating  off 
their  heads  in  fashionable  schools " 

"But,  Fred,  you,  yourself,  have  always  said  that 
they  should  have  the  things  which  we " 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know,  Anna,"  he  exclaimed,  now  on 
the  defensive.  "Of  course,  I've  always  said  that  they 
should  have  the  things  we  did  not  have.  They're  hav 
ing  them,  aren't  they  ?  But  the  very  fact  that  they  are 
having  them  makes  it  doubly  necessary  that  the  mills 
should — grind  their  grist  of  profit,  doesn't  it?" 

"But  Christmas  day!" 

"On  Christmas  day  a  business  man  must  think  about 
the  first  of  January.  I  must  telephone  to  Valentine." 

"Fred,"  said  Anna,  now  definitely  protesting,  "go 
to  the  mills  yourself,  if  you  are  sure  you  must,  but 
don't  make  Mr.  Valentine  give  up  his  Christmas  day  to 
business.  He's  young " 

"Am  I  so  old,  then?"  He  stood  looking  at  her 
frowningly. 

Beatrice  and  Harry  hushed  their  badinage  and 
reminiscences  of  convent  and  of  college.  They  were 
worried.  This  was  a  false  note  in  what  they  had  been 
certain  would  be  a  day  quite  perfect.  What  ailed 
father? 

"We  are  no  longer  young,  Fred,"  Anna  answered 
quietly,  with  that  harried  look  which  had  been  coming 
to  her  face  of  late  with  an  increasing  frequency. 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE         87 

"All  the  more  reason,  then,"  said  he,  "why  I  must 
make  the  most  of  the  few  years  of  life  before  me— • 
make  the  most  of  them,  so  that  these  young  folks" — 
again  he  spoke  almost  with  bitterness — "may  lead  the 
fancy,  idling  lives  that  young  folks  live  in  these  days." 

Harry  started  from  his  seat  to  protest,  but  Hoffman 
strode  out  of  the  room. 

The  boy  stood  looking  after  him  in  sheer  amaze 
ment. 

"I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  your  father 
lately,"  said  his  mother  almost  hopelessly. 

"Well,  if  he  wants  me  to  stop  law  school — I  don't 
care  much  about  it  anyway.  Mr.  Alston's  got  all  the 
really  big  practice — he  and  Senator  Stevenson." 

She  smiled.  "But  you're  of  another  generation, 
Harry.  It  will  bring  its  business  with  it." 

"But  father  is  so  grouchy." 

"Don't,  Harry!"  his  mother  begged.  Her  nerves 
were  all  on  edge. 

Beatrice  gazed  at  her  with  a  girl's  quicker  sympathy 
and  caught  her  off  her  guard.  Since  her  arrival  Anna 
had  been  careful  to  be  cheerful,  had  made  constant 
efforts  to  conceal  from  the  bright  eyes  of  her  daugh 
ter  the  fact  that  life  in  the  old  home  had  complicated 
in  the  last  two  years,  was  complicating  now  with  a  be 
wildering  rapidity. 

"Why,  mother !"  the  girl  cried,  almost  alarmed  and 
very  definitely  shocked.  "You  look  so  tired!  Aren't 
you  sleeping  well?" 

Anna  smiled  at  her.    "Yes,  Beatrice;  quite  well." 

"But  you  do  look  tired." 


88         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Harry  made  a  rough  guess  at  the  reason  and  his 
soul  began  to  strut  as  boys'  souls  will.  "Mother,"  he  in 
quired,  "you  needn't  try  to  say  it  isn't  so,  father's 
wearing  you  to  a  mere  frazzle.  What's  the  matter 
with  him?" 

Anna  rose  in  horrified  protest.  "Why,  Harry,  what 
a  thing  to  say !  I'm  a  little  overtired,  perhaps — that's 
all." 

"Well,  you  let  me  know  what  I  can  do  to  help  things 
out,"  said  he,  not  realizing  in  the  least  that  the  one 
thing  which  might  be  done  to  help  things  out  was  not 
within  his  power  of  accomplishment  and  seemed  be 
yond  the  ken  of  the  one  person  who  might  do  it. 

She  smiled  at  him.    "Dear  boy!" 

He  went  to  her  and  put  his  hand  upon  her  shoul 
der.  "You  know  you  can  count  on  me,  momsie."  He 
was  trying  to  be  comforting. 

"Of  course  I  can,  dear." 

But  as  she  tried  to  smile  at  him  her  eyes  filled,  and 
she  made  an  errand  to  the  kitchen. 

There  Barbie  caught  the  glint  of  tears  upon  her 
lashes.  The  old  servant  was  up  in  arms  at  once. 

"Mrs.  Hoffman,  has  the  old  gentleman  been  saying 
more  mean  things  to  you?" 

"Why,  Barbie!"  Her  mistress'  tone  was  one  of 
shocked  reproof. 

"I  know,"  said  the  servant  sagely.  "Cooks  can  keep 
their  ringers  out  of  broth  that  they're  not  cooking  if 
they  want  many  friends,  but  Mr.  Hoffman — why  he 
snips  at  me  and  snaps  at  you !  No  wonder  to  me,  Mrs. 
Hoffman,  that  your  eyes  are  getting  pretty  well  washed 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         89 

out  and  your  mouth  is  running  down-hill  at  both 
ends." 

"Barbie!"  said  Anna,  quite  aghast  "Please  never 
let  me  hear  another  word  of  that  sort " 

"Mrs.  Hoffman,  to-day's  Christmas.  You  can't  be 
cross  with  me  on  Christmas."  The  old  servant  looked 
at  her  with  a  grim  smile. 

It  conquered,  and  Anna  gave  her  back  one  full  of 
real  affection.  The  time  had  long  since  passed  when 
the  ordinary  discipline  with  which  servants  may  be 
threatened  could  be  even  hinted  at  with  Barbie. 

"But  you  must  stop  your  grumbling  about  Mr. 
Hoffman,"  Anna  answered. 

"Stop  my  grumbling  about  Mr.  Hoffman!"  Barbie 
cried,  as  if  this  thought  was  new.  "It's  the  old  gentle 
man  that  does  the  grumbling !" 

Anna  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  question  about 
dinner;  but  as  Barbie  started  toward  the  kitchen,  her 
mistress  was  reflecting  with  some  melancholy  that  this 
Christmas  dinner  would  lack  many  elements  which 
had  been  ever  present  at  such  feasts  in  days  gone  by. 

It  did,  as  did  the  evening  which  succeeded  it,  and 
the  days  which  followed  that. 

When,  at  the  little  early  party  gathered  at  the  house, 
partly  to  watch  the  old  year  out  and  partly  in  the  way 
of  farewell  merriment  for  Beatrice,  who  was  to  leave 
for  the  far  convent  school  at  n  o'clock,  Hoffman 
flared  somewhat  vividly  at  no  less  a  personage  than 
Senator  Stevenson,  up  from  Washington  for  the 
holidays,  and  bent  upon  the  exposition  in  the  district 
of  his  party's  services  to  commerce,  she  was  almost 


90         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

frightened,  for  she  saw  Dorothy  Mason,  his  ward, 
whom  the  Senator  had  brought,  look  up  at  Hoffman 
worried,  even  shocked,  and  saw  that  this  was  worry 
ing  Harry.  It  was  among  the  darling  projects  of  her 
mother's  heart  that  Harry  and  this  charming  girl 
should  marry. 

It  was  a  real  relief  to  her  when  Harry  pranced  in, 
very  handsome  in  his  evening  clothes,  and  whirled 
Dorothy  away  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Beatrice 
was  playing  old  French  waltzes.  The  Senator  went 
after  them,  a  smile  upon  his  face,  and  stood  in  the 
wide  doorway,  watching  them  with  satisfaction. 

"Fred,"  said  Anna  carefully,  "this  is  New  Year's 
Eve,  you  know,  and " 

"Well,  what  of  it,  Anna?"  His  voice  was  sharp, 
annoyed. 

"Good  nature  is  a  part  of  hospitality."  She  was 
looking  at  him  with  more  bewilderment  than  disap 
proval. 

For  a  moment  he  was  really  abashed.  "Yes,  I 
know,"  he  said  at  length,  "but  all  these  politicians  want 
is " 

"You  would  not  class  the  Senator  among  mere  poli 
ticians,  would  you?" 

"No;  not  exactly  that;  but " 

"Fred,  I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  you.  It 
is  true  that  we  are  growing  old,  but  one  may  grow  old 
gracefully." 

"That's  it!"  he  said,  aroused  anew.  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  constantly  talk  age !"  He  looked  at  her  with 
out  much  favor. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE         91' 

"It  is  a  thing  which  cannot  be  denied,"  she  answered. 

"I  can  deny  it,"  he  protested.  "Look  at  Stevenson ! 
He's  fifteen  years  older  than  I  am,  and " 

"He  is  beginning  to  get  feeble,"  Anna  commented 
with  a  matter-of-fact  accuracy  which  maddened  him. 

The  Senator  returned,  bringing  with  him  Alston, 
who,  although  he  was  Hoffman's  junior  by  not  more 
than  a  year  or  two,  belied  his  age  with  his  geniality. 
He  had  been  dancing  with  the  young  folk,  but  even  he 
was  glad  now  to  let  his  aging  muscles  rest. 

"Why  haven't  you  been  in  the  other  room  and  dan 
cing?"  he  asked  Hoffman. 

"Dancing  ?    Why,  I  haven't  danced  in  years !" 

"Getting  old,  eh?"  said  the  genial  lawyer.  "Well, 
we  all  of  us " 

"Old?  No,"  said  Hoffman  with  some  emphasis. 
Then,  in  complaint:  "There  seems  to  be  a  real  con 
spiracy  on  foot  to  make  me  think  I  am  Methusalem. 
Anna  has  been  saying  to  me " 

"Why  don't  you  take  her  in,  and  show  these  young 
sters  the  real  art  of  dancing?"  said  the  lawyer,  not  en 
tirely  in  fun.  He  had  been  watching  Anna's  face. 

Hoffman  shook  his  head  as  if  the  very  thought  were 
an  absurdity.  "Oh,  Anna  wouldn't  care  to  dance." 

Alston  wondered,  with  a  sharp  dismay,  if  the  glance 
his  friend  had  thrown  toward  his  wife's  face  could 
possibly  be  one  of  critical  dislike. 

"Wouldn't  she?  That's  where  you're  wrong. 
Chat's  where  you're  making  a  mistake,  Fred." 

The  lawyer's  eyes  were  full  of  real  distress.  He 
loved  these  two,  as  if  they  had  been  of  his  family. 


He  could  see  that  things  were  going  wrong  between 
them;  he  felt  that  all  the  blame,  or  most  of  it,  at  least, 
was  on  the  man's  part. 

"Why  don't  you  take  the  real  success  that  God  has 
given  you,  old  man,  and  make  the  most  of  it?" 

"If  God  gave  me  success,  He  made  me  work  for  it." 

"Of  course,  otherwise  it  would  not  have  been  your 
own  success.  Why  don't  you  enjoy  it?" 

Hoffman  hunched  his  shoulders  discontentedly. 
"Oh,  I  enjoy  it,  I  suppose.  But  it's  so  full  of  petti 
nesses  !" 

"Life  is  made  up  of  little  things,  old  man — of  very 
little  things." 

Again  Hoffman  shrugged  his  shoulders  discon 
tentedly. 

Alston  smiled  quizzically  at  him.  "I  believe  you're 
getting  discontented  in  your  old  age,  Fred.  Discon 
tented  with  the  very  things  for  which  you  have  so 
striven." 

Hoffman  turned  upon  him  angrily.  "There  it  is 
again — 'old  age !'  I  tell  you  I'm  not  old  I  I  won't  be 
old!" 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Fred.  I'm  old.  Lord, 
how  that  polka  made  me  puff!"  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  "If  I  could  stay  two  hours,  Fred,  I  would  be 
able  to  wish  you  happy  New  Year  as  the  year  comes 
in;  but  that's  impossible.  I  must  move  along.  It's 
the  devil  to  be  unattached.  I  have  no  excuse  for  re 
fusing  invitations  that  I  don't  want  to  accept." 

"What  time  is  it?" 

"Half-past  nine." 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE         93 

"And  they're  still  dancing!  Beatrice  must  catch 
that  train  at  eleven !" 

"Well,  there's  an  hour  and  a  half." 

"An  hour  and  a  half !  For  her  to  dress  and  to  say 
good-by  in?  Alston,  you  don't  know  women.  Why, 
it  takes  ten  minutes  to  drive  down  to  the  station!"  He 
went  to  the  door  which  opened  on  the  drawing-room. 
"Beatrice,"  he  called,  "it's  time  for  you  to  dress." 

In  a  moment  she  came  running  toward  him.  "Is 
it  ten  so  soon?" 

"No;  but  it's  half-past  nine." 

"But  I  don't  have  to  dress  till  ten." 

"What,  with  your  train  going  at  eleven?" 

"Just  one  more  dance,  daddy.    I  have  promised  it." 

"Well,  make  it  a  short  one,  then,"  said  Anna,  com 
ing  near. 

"I  believe  you're  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me!" 

"My  dear!"  Anna's  voice  was  full  of  fond  re 
proach.  "Run  in  and  have  your  dance  then;  but, 
really,  it  must  be  the  last.  You  must  not  annoy  your 
father  by  delaying." 

"Annoy  me !"  said  Hoffman.  "I  only  want  to  have 
her  make  her  train." 

Anna  sank  into  a  chair,  a  cold  chill  about  her  heart. 

Somehow  the  girl's  words  had  rung  curiously  true. 
It  was  a  fact  that  she  felt  little  sorrow  at  the  thought 
of  Beatrice's  going  this  time,  when,  in  previous  years, 
the  nearing  of  the  hour  for  her  departure  had  bit 
terly  distressed  her.  What  could  be  the  reason?  A 
dozen  times  she  multiplied  the  question  in  her  mind, 
fighting  off  the  answer,  and  then,  finally  admitted  it. 


94         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

It  was  the  change  in  the  girl's  father,  her  own  hus 
band,  which  she  feared  to  have  her  daughter  remain 
long  enough  to  see.  A  subtle,  mystifying  change,  it 
was,  but  terrible. 

When  had  it  begun?  What  had  given  birth  to  it? 
What  would  it  lead  to?  She  would  not  let  her 
stunned  and  weary  brain  formulate  in  words  the  truth 
of  it;  she  would  not  let  it  formulate  it  even  in  emo 
tions.  But  her  heart  knew  it,  shrank  from  it,  grieved 
over  it  with  such  a  grief  as  she  had  never  known  be 
fore,  although  that  heart  had  been  torn  by  the  mighty 
sorrow  of  the  loss  of  a  first  born.  Now,  when  her 
husband  and  herself  should  be  upon  their  placid  way 
down  the  first  gentle  slopes  of  the  declining  years  of 
their  companionship,  the  clasp  of  their  two  hands  was 
loosening.  She  could  feel  this  very  definitely — almost 
as  definitely  as  if  the  relaxing  clasp  had  been  material, 
as  if  his  actual  fingers  had  been  slipping  from  the  de 
spairing  clinging  of  her  own. 

All  this  ill-temper,  all  his  criticism  of  himself,  poor 
Barbie,  Harry,  Beatrice,  meant  one  thing  only — he 
was  somehow  separating  from  her  and  the  children, 
growing  out  of  the  old  home.  She  knew  perfectly  that 
he  had  no  other  interest,  yet  the  old  interests  now 
failed  to  satisfy.  It  made  Beatrice's  going  far  less 
tragic.  How  much  more  so  would  her  staying  be,  if 
it  were  to  reveal  to  her  this  grim  and  dreadful  situa 
tion?  It  made  the  fact  that  Harry  must  return  to 
college  a  relief  to  her. 

As  she  sat  there  in  the  dim  library  and  watched 
the  young  folk  in  the  brilliant  drawing-room  whirl- 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE         95 

ing  in  that  final,  romping  dance,  listened  to  their  chat 
ter,  sensed  the  growing  beauty  of  her  daughter,  gloated 
fondly  on  the  manly  good  looks  of  her  son,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  born  of  a  new  emotion.  She  desired 
above  all  things  to  have  them  go — to  have  them  go 
before  they  gathered  any  inkling  of  the  dreadful,  if 
utterly  intangible,  metamorphosis  which  seemed  to 
have  been  worked  in  the  psychology  of  life  within  the 
comfortable,  square  brick  house  behind  the  evergreens 
on  Belleville's  Main  Street. 

What  was  the  change  in  Fred  which  was  so  evident 
to  her  scared  eyes  ?  Could  others  see  it  ?  Did  Barbie 
see  it — that  is,  did  she  see  more  than  the  increasing 
bitterness  of  temper  which  so  worried  her?  Had 
Harry  noted  it  ?  Had  Beatrice  been  in  the  least  aware 
of  it? 

She  could  not  think  the  children  had  really  been 
conscious  of  it.  They  had  suffered  from  it,  but  their 
discomfort  had  been  vague.  She  knew  that  once  or 
twice  their  father's  manner  toward  her  had  a  little 
shocked  them,  for  once  when  Hoffman  had  spoken 
sharply  to  her  Beatrice  had  laid  her  hand  upon  hers 
comfortingly  in  passing,  and  once  her  son  had  clasped 
her  in  his  arms  as  soon  as  Hoffman  had  gone  out, 
after  an  outburst  of  irritation;  but  she  hoped  they  had 
not  fully  realized. 

Still,  it  had  been  marked.  They  had  been  much 
away  from  home  while  they  had  been  passing  from 
childhood's  age  of  calm  acceptance  into  the  beginning 
of  the  analytical  stage  of  their  development.  And 
in  their  childhood  days  of  calm  acceptance,  there  had 


96         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

been  nothing  for  them  to  accept.  Fred,  in  those  days, 
had  been  different,  ah,  so  different !  Absorbed  in  busi-1 
ness  he  had  always  been,  but  ill-natured,  overbearing, 
unjust,  never.  Now  .  .  .  There  was  so  much  for 
them  to  see,  if  really  their  eyes  were  opened ! 

Her  husband  called  her  as  he  stood  in  the  dining- 
room  door,  far  down  the  hall. 

"Well,  Anna,  are  you  ready?  We  don't  want  that 
child  to  miss  her  train !" 

No,  alas!  she  did  not  want  that  child  to  miss  her 
train  and  remain  another  day  to  hear  her  father  use 
that  tone  in  speaking  to  her  mother.  She  hastened 
to  make  ready  for  the  sally  out  into  the  cold. 

It  was  late  when  they  returned  and  she  was  weary 
both  in  mind  and  body.  Worse,  she  was  weary  in  her 
soul.  Harry,  unfretted  by  his  sister's  going,  had 
started  for  the  watch-night  services  at  the  Presby 
terian  church,  with  some  misgivings  as  to  their  prom 
ise  of  entertainment,  but  determined  to  sap  Belleville 
of  the  most  it  had  to  offer  of  excitement  for  the  young, 
and  she  had  been  glad  to  have  him  leave  them. 

"I  am  really  very  tired,  Fred,"  she  said,  as  he  turned 
up  the  light  in  the  front  hall.  Barbie,  of  course,  was 
at  the  watch-night  meeting.  Her  Presbyterianism  was 
devout. 

He  looked  at  her  with  plain  surprise  and  some  dis 
pleasure.  How  pale  and  drawn  her  face  was !  What 
had  she  been  doing  to  herself?  Why  hadn't  she  pre 
served  her  looks,  as  other  women  did  ?  He  had  noted 
those  among  their  neighbors  who  had  not  allowed 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE         97 

themselves  to  fall  away  in  their  appearance  as  she 
had.  That  the  earlier  years  of  these,  her  first  rivals 
in  his  mind,  had  been  less  strenuous  than  hers,  he  did 
not  stop  to  think.  That  while  she  had  been  helping 
him  build  up  his  fortune  they  had  been  at  ease  on 
fortunes  won  already,  or  had  remained  at  ease,  con 
tent  to  see  their  husbands  struggle  without  aid,  did 
not  recur  to  him  to-night,  although  there  had  been 
days,  in  times  gone  by,  when  he  had  not  lacked  full 
appreciation  of  it  and  thought  of  them  with  grim 
contempt. 

"Too  tired,  I  suppose,  to  have  a  little  talk,"  he 
grumbled. 

She  looked  at  him  with  something  close  to  fright. 
What  was  it  that  he  planned  to  say  to  her?  Was  it 
something  about  Harry  ?  The  mysterious  intuition  of 
a  mother  urged  her  to  make  inquiry,  to  protest  if 
Fred  was  planning  to  let  Harry  leave  the  Law  School 
and  go  into  the  business.  Could  he  not  realize  that 
his  son's  circumstances  and  his  own  at  his  son's  age 
were  very  different?  His  father  had  been  struggling 
to  build  up  an  enterprise ;  his  help  had  been  imperative 
to  its  success.  Now  that  enterprise  was  well-estab 
lished  and  most  prosperous,  it  in  no  way  needed 
Harry.  But  did  he  plan  to  thrust  him  into  it? 

She  could  not  argue  with  him  that  night.  She 
would  start  the  struggle,  if  there  was  to  be  one,  in  the 
morning. 

"I  am  very  tired,"  she  said  dully,  "but  if  you  wish 
to  talk  I  shall  be  glad  to  listen,  certainly.  What  is 
it,  Fred?" 


•98         THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"I've  been  thinking  about  Harry,"  he  said  definitely. 

Her  heart  throbbed  almost  wildly.  So  her  worst 
fears  were  confirmed. 

"Yes,  Fred;  what  about  him?" 

"This  Law  School  idea.  Three  years  more  of  it. 
Don't  you  think  it's  rather  silly?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  so.  I  supposed  we  had  agreed 
on  it." 

"Well,  yes ;  we  had.  I  will  admit  that.  But  had  we 
thought  it  over  carefully  enough?  I  had  to  go  into 
the  business.  He  ought  to  go  into  the  business." 

"But  in  the  law  he  might  build  a  career.  Senator 
Stevenson  feels  sure  he  would.  He  has  the  inclina 
tion.  Why  not  let  him  follow  out  the  plan?" 

"I  know  he  has  the  inclination !"  His  voice  was  al 
most  rough.  It  seemed  to  triumph,  as  if  he  had  found 
out  a  secret  which  they  all  had  tried  to  keep  from  him. 
"He  has  the  inclination  to  stay  there  in  New  York 
City  and  have  a  gay  and  easy  time  of  it  for  a  few 
years.  I " 


'Oh,  Fred — no !    You  know  Harry  isn't- 


"Yes,  yes,  of  course  he  isn't.  I'm  not  saying  any 
thing  against  the  boy — especially.  But  Valentine " 

"I  thought  Valentine  was  doing  very  well." 

"He  has  no  judgment — not  a  particle.  I'm  not  say 
ing  anything  against  him,  either;  but  when  I  was  of 
his  age " 

"Times  were  so  different!  Fred,  too  much  was 
thrust  on  you  when  you  were  of  the  age  of  Mr.  Val 
entine.  Too  much  had  been  thrust  on  you  when  you 
were  of  Harry's  age.  But  your  father  was  less  active 
than  you  are — older,  far,  even  than  we  are." 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE        99 

It  was  a  slip,  and  she  had  had  fair  warning ;  but  she 
had  not  learned  to  look  for  warnings  in  her  long  mar 
ried  life.  The  Frederick  Hoffman  she  had  known  in 
bygone  years  had  not  made  it  necessary  that  she 
search  words  and  looks  for  omens  of  the  things  she 
must  and  must  not  say.  She  could  not  adjust  herself. 

"  'Older,  even,  than  we  are !'  You  talk  as  if  we  had 
a  foot  apiece  hung  in  the  grave !  Anna,  I  wish  you'd 
stop  that.  I  won't  be  old.  I  won't  have  it,  Anna !" 

She  had  no  conception  of  the  depth  of  feeling  which 
was  hidden  at  the  back  of  this  remark;  she  had  no 
conception  of  the  storm  of  protest  which  was  rising 
in  this  strong  man's  soul  against  the  ruthlessness  of 
Fate.  She  thought  he  must  be  playing  with  her,  mak 
ing  a  grim  sort  of  game  with  her.  How  could  he 
deny  that  he  was  growing  old  ?  She  did  not  deny  that 
she  was. 

"Who  was  it?  King  Canute?  He  tried  to  make 
the  tide  stop  at  his  feet !"  she  said,  trying  to  be  gay. 

,To  her  surprise  he  turned  toward  her  a  face  on 
which  deep  annoyance  very  plainly  showed. 

"There  is  a  difference  between  attempting  to  com 
bat  a  law  of  Nature  and  refusing  to  be  misled  into 
foolish  error  by  a  wrong  conception,"  he  said  almost 
fiercely.  "It's  this  miserable  life  here  in  this  dead- 
and-alive,  one-horse-power  city,  this  ceaseless  grind  at 
thankless  tasks,  this  never-ending  slavery  to  outworn 
tradition " 

Puzzled  beyond  words,  unwilling  even  to  sit  listen 
ing  to  him,  she  rose,  perplexed,  almost  in  despair,  un 
dreaming  of  the  bizarre  climax  which  was  approaching 
in  his  hitherto  conventional  career. 


100       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  quite  know  what  you  are  talking 
about,  Fred."  Her  voice  was  dull  and  weary. 
"If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go  up  to  bed.  I'm  very 
tired/1 

"By  all  means — go  to  bed,"  he  answered,  with  no  at 
tempt  to  finish  out  his  interrupted  sentence. 

She  heard  Harry,  when  he  came  in  late,  and  knew 
his  father  had  been  sitting  up  for  him,  for,  after  the 
door  closed,  the  murmuring  of  voices  came  up  from 
the  library  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  When,  at 
last,  her  son  came  up  the  stairs  in  stocking- feet,  so 
that  he  might  not  awaken  her,  she  threw  a  wrapper 
over  her  night  robe,  slipped  her  feet  into  soft  slippers 
and  went  down  the  hall  to  meet  him. 

He  looked  very  glum  in  the  flickering  light  which 
spread  about  his  head  from  the  candle  in  his  hand. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time,  Harry?" 

"Aw,  mother!"  he  exclaimed  disgustedly.  "A  nice 
time!  It  was  a  funeral!  They  watched  the  old  year 
out,  all  right — they  watched  it  down  and  out!" 

"But  it  was  a  watch-night  meeting,  Harry!" 

"It  was  as  cheerful  as  it  would  have  been  if  they 
had  had  it  in  a  coffin,  with  candles  at  its  head  and  feet, 
and  had  been  waiting  for  the  new  year  with  a  sponge 
of  chloroform  to  suffocate  it,  too!  Did  you  ever  see 
such  whiskers  as  there  are  in  Belleville,  mother?  If  I 
had  had  a  set  like  Doctor  Whipple's,  in  college,  when 
I  played  the  grave-digger  in  'Omelet' " 

"In  'Hamlet,'  dear?" 

"No,  'Omelet' ;  it  was  a  parody  on  that  Shakespeare 
stuff.  If  I'd  had  a  set  of  whiskers  like  the  parson's, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       101 

the  managers  would  have  been  after  me  with  offers 
for  the  Winter  Garden." 

She  was  curiously  sensitive.  After  Fred's  com 
plaints  of  Belleville,  and  their  life  there,  which  she 
had  supposed  had  been  so  full  of  satisfying  effort,  and, 
therefore,  had  been  so  happy,  to  have  her  son  com 
plain  of  it,  as  if  he,  too,  hated  the  old  home,  was  al 
most  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"Harry,  dear!"  she  cried.  "I  am  so  sorry!  Oh,  I 
hope " 

"Why,  momsie,  darling,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  is  the 
matter?  You're  not  crying,  are  you?  I  didn't  mean 
to  make  game  of  it.  Is  the  deacon  an  old  friend? 
Only — after  college — and  Law  School — and  then — 
what  father  said  to  me  to-night " 

She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  definitely 
frightened.  "What  did  he  say,  Harry?" 

The  boy's  face  was  dark  with  discontent.  "Hasn't 
he  told  you?" 

"No;  but  I  have  been  afraid  to-night " 

"I'm  not  going  back  to  Law  School.  He  wants  me 
in  the  factory.  He  says  I've  got  to  buckle  down  with 
Valentine  and  learn  the  darned  old  business !" 

"Oh,  Harry?"  Her  voice  was  almost  a  despairing 
mother's  cry,  but  she  quickly  found  her  self-control. 
She  must  not  oppose  his  father  to  her  son.  What  she 
had  to  say  about  this  she  must  say  to  Frederick  him 
self.  "Well,  he  probably  knows  best." 

"I  hope  he'll  give  me  a  strong  anaesthetic,  so  that  it 
won't  be  so  very  painful,"  said  the  boy,  and,  kissing 
her,  went  on  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   V 

The  winter's  second  unusual  storm  swept  the  land 
scape  which  loafed  slowly  past  the  windows  of  the 
sleeping  car.  Miss  Bettina  Curtis  watched  it  now  and 
then  with  languid  interest.  She  only  watched  it  now 
and  then,  for  the  conductor  of  the  train,  the  sleeping- 
car  conductor,  a  traveling  salesman  of  silk  petticoats, 
a  college  boy  and  a  venerable  surgeon  of  great  note, 
who  was  journeying  to  Buffalo  to  attend  a  consulta 
tion  in  connection  with  a  merchant  prince's  innermost 
activities,  were  the  car's  other  passengers  and  they 
scarcely  saw  the  storm  at  all.  Their  eyes  were  mostly 
fixed  on  Miss  Bettina  Curtis.  She  knew  it. 

And  she  gloried  in  it.  Not  because  she  cared  a  rap 
for  them :  she  was  informed  about  the  man  who  wants 
to  flirt,  and  wise  enough  to  take  him  very  lightly;  but 
it  was  an  omen — it  was  an  omen  that  she  might  suc 
ceed  in  the  great  enterprise  on  which  she  had  em 
barked — the  enterprise  of  making  her  companionship 
to  Anna  Hoffman  (whom  she  in  advance  despised) 
entirely  incidental  to  securing  for  herself  for  life  the 
luxurious  companionship  of  some  rich  man. 

It  was  most  exciting  and  encouraging.  She  was 
young ;  her  definite  sins  had  been  almost  unimportant ; 
but  now,  although  the  car  was  most  inadequately 
heated,  the  explorer's  spirit  thrilled  in  her  until  it 

102 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       103 

almost  helped  her  to  forget  cold  toes.  She  did  not 
sense  it  as  a  fact,  but  when  she  had  embarked  upon 
that  train  she  had  become  a  real  adventuress.  Why 
should  we  laud  "gentlemen  adventurers"  and  tell  their 
tales  of  gentlemanly  slaughter,  gentlemanly  swindling, 
gentlemanly  highwaymanship  in  lilting  and  inspiring 
song,  while  we  turn  our  noses  toward  the  ceiling  at 
the  word  "adventuress"?  "Lady  adventuress" — I 
never  heard  the  term. 

It  does  not  quite  describe  Bettina — she  was  neither 
quite  a  lady  nor  quite  experienced  enough  to  fit  the 
meaning  of  that  hard,  although  potentially  romantic 
descriptive  word  "adventuress";  but  stirring  in  her 
breast,  beneath  the  snug  and  shapely,  if  most  inex 
pensive,  tailor-made  which  covered  it,  thrilled  a  de 
lightful  curiosity,  unterrified,  determined — and  likely 
to  remain  so.  This  uncomfortable  journey  across  the 
snow-bound  landscape,  which  had  stretched  through 
twelve  long  hours  and  would  stretch  all  through  twelve 
more,  to  more  than  double  normal  limit,  was  destined, 
she  felt  sure,  to  take  her  into  areas  of  new  and  ful 
some  opportunity — and  opportunity,  she  was  de 
termined,  would  never  need  to  make  two  knocks  upon 
her  door. 

She  had  not  much  heart.  The  reflection,  for  ex 
ample,  that  old  Murfree  had  probably  condemned  him 
self  to  weird,  half-dollar  dinners  for  two  weeks  in 
order  to  secure  for  her  her  railway  ticket  and  the 
privilege  of  riding  in  a  sleeper  did  not  fill  her  soul 
with  gratitude.  Instead  she  smiled  maliciously  as  she 
considered  him  a  victim  of  the  restaurant  which  she 


104      THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

knew  very  well  indeed  and  knew  he  hated.  She  al 
most  resented  the  intrusion  of  the  skirt-salesman  with 
coffee,  at  this  moment,  for  his  coming  interrupted 
visualization  of  old  Murfree  searching  with  disconso 
late  fork  for  rare  chicken  livers  in  the  fifty-cent 
spaghetti. 

The  skirt-salesman  told  her  of  his  "line"  as  she 
sipped  the  hot  coffee. 

"I  got  th'  neatest  little  petticoat  you  ever  seen  yet 
in  my  36  sample  trunk,"  said  he.  "I'm  going  to  get  it 
out  at  Buffalo  for  you." 

"But,"  sighed  Bettina,  tempering  the  sigh  with 
smiles.  "I'm  not  going  on  to  Buffalo." 

The  salesman  seemed  depressed,  then  he  seriously 
pondered.  "Might  I  could  get  it  from  the  baggage 
car  already;  this  train  ain't  going  none." 

"How  lovely  if  you  could !"  Bettina  granted. 

It  took  him  a  good  hour  to  do  this,  for  his  No.  36 
sample  trunk  was  at  the  bottom  of  a  pile,  and  when 
he  went  back  to  the  sleeping  car  with  the  beruffled 
garment,  Bettina  was  engrossed  in  conversation  with 
the  celebrated  surgeon,  who  frowned  upon  the  sales 
man  as  he  handed  her  the  petticoat.  She  gave  its 
donor  a  rare  smile  and  tucked  the  skirt  into  her  bag; 
but  that  smile,  as  it  left  the  salesman,  swept  the  col 
lege  boy  into  its  orbit,  and  the  college  boy  went  after 
magazines.  The  surgeon  was  annoyed ;  but  he  did  not 
rise  and  leave.  He  racked  his  brain  for  plans  by 
means  of  which  to  utterly  outshine  the  salesman  and 
the  college  boy.  He  finally  made  purchases  of  candies. 

Therefore,  even  if  Bettina's  toes  were  cold,  she  was 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       105 

having  a  good  time,  which  she  felt  certain  was  pre 
cursor  of  many  good  times  in  the  future.  Very  defi 
nite  ideas  were  in  the  small  but  shapely  head  of  Miss 
Bettina  Curtis,  as  the  train  poked  slowly  westward. 
She  was  a  creature  of  her  rearing,  or  her  lack  of  it, 
and  viewed  life  from  the  standpoint,  half-furtive,  half- 
aggressive,  of  the  man  or  woman  who  turns  naturally 
to  tricks,  ignorant  of  the  manner  or  the  joy  of  per 
fectly  fair  fighting  for  a  worthy  object. 

If  Bettina  cared  for  any  one  it  was  for  Theodore 
Sevigny,  but  her  self-love  was  far  greater  than  her 
love  for  Theodore,  and  perhaps  she  shrewdly  estimated 
the  composer  when  she  assumed  that  his  self-love  was 
greater  than  the  passion  for  her  which  he  had  so  fre 
quently  assured  her  burned  within  his  soul.  But  not 
withstanding  the  plain  limitations  of  her  love  for  him, 
and  notwithstanding  the  presumable  limitations  of 
his  love  for  her,  she  did  not  in  the  least  intend  to  live 
her  life  without  him,  and  if  she  had  him  in  her  life 
it  was  as  clear  as  day  to  her  that  some  one  other  than 
himself  would  have  to  furnish  funds;  he  never  would 
be  able  to.  That  duty,  all  too  clearly,  would  be  hers. 

She  had  no  developed  talents.  But  she  was  very 
beautiful  of  face,  and  more  beautiful  of  form  than 
face.  Thus  far  in  life's  journey  she  had  used  these 
assets,  meagerly  reserving  them  for  old  Murfree,  who 
observed  and  copied  them  on  canvas,  paying  her  for 
this  great  privilege  (cold,  despite  its  seeming  inti 
macy)  a  small  sum  per  hour.  Not  thus  had  the 
world's  greatest  beauties  capitalized  their  charms. 
There  was  one  way  only  to  achieve  her  Theodore, 


106       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

and  that  was  to  get  money ;  there  was  one  way  to  get 
money,  and  that  was  to  get  men. 

Her  experience  with  these  men  on  the  train  assured 
her  that  she  would  not  find  this  task  too  arduous  when 
she  began  to  operate  in  Belleville.  Reflecting  thus  she 
laughed  a  full  and  throaty  little  laugh,  a  charming 
gurgle,  which  brought  the  celebrated  surgeon,  the 
skirt-salesman  and  the  college  boy  quickly  to  atten 
tion.  The  Pullman  car  conductor,  who  was  standing 
near,  glared  at  them  with  wrath.  The  train  conductor 
elbowed  him  aside.  But  company  rules  do  not  permit 
conductors,  train  or  Pullman,  to  cut  in  with  their  flir 
tations  in  advance  of  amorous  passengers.  The  public 
has  some  rights.  The  surgeon,  the  salesman  and  the 
college  boy  proceeded  in  their  adoration  of  her,  inter 
rupted  only  by  each  other. 

And  thus  the  day  passed  with  Bettina,  who  felt  cer 
tain  she  was  going  to  her  fate,  or  part  of  it.  The  night 
was  blank  and  comfortable,  for  she  was  a  healthy  ani 
mal.  The  morning  dawned  with  three  squires  eager 
to  buy  breakfast  for  her  in  the  dining-car,  and  the  sec 
ond  day  began — the  first  day  of  the  glad  New  Year. 

We  may  leave  her,  for  the  moment,  very  merry, 
turning  from  the  wintry  landscape,  dimly  seen  through 
snow-flecked  windows,  to  the  surgeon,  the  skirt-sales 
man,  the  college-boy,  or  the  conductors — all  of  whom 
were  at  her  service. 

In  Belleville,  at  the  house  toward  which  she  jour 
neyed,  the  temperature  was  slightly  higher,  but  the 
merriment  was  at  a  lower  pressure.  It  was,  indeed, 
almost  with  sorrow,  surely  it  was  with  a  very  definite 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       107 

gravity,  that  Anna  Hoffman  replaced  the  old  year's 
calendar  with  a  new  one  Beatrice  had  brought  her  as 
a  Christmas  gift  (it  was  ornamented  by  a  water-color 
from  her  own  deft  brush)  and  tore  off  the  cover  leaf 
of  the  small  pad  of  days.  The  leaf  beneath  bore,  in 
addition  to  the  mystic  "January  I,"  which  so  im 
presses  all  of  us,  a  quotation,  starting  with  an  illumi 
nated  "I." 

Anna  looked  at  it  with  casual  eyes — eyes  heavy 
from  a  night  which  had  included  little  sleep. 

"I  shall  not  pry  into  Time's  closed  book,"  she  read, 
and  her  attention  concentrated,  "Whatever  there  may 
be  in  store  for  me  of  joy  or  sorrow,  into  Thy  hands, 
O  Lord,  I  lay  my  destiny." 

She  sighed. 

The  closed  book  of  Time!  Ah,  when  the  past 
twelvemonth's  leaves  had  opened  they  had  revealed 
some  unexpected  and  unwelcome  passages!  Would 
the  year  to  come  prove  less  fecund  of  threats,  more 
prolific  of  bright  realizations?  It  had  torn  her  heart 
to  say  good-by  to  Beatrice,  yet  was  she,  really,  sorry 
to  have  the  dear  girl  go?  It  had  indefinitely  chilled 
her  to  learn  that  Harry  was  to  leave  Law  School,  yet 
she  never  favored  law  for  him  as  a  profession.  She 
.had  always  hoped  that  he  would  settle  down  in  Belle 
ville,  taking  up  his  father's  business  and  marrying 
some  nice  Belleville  girl.  The  scheme  of  things  was 
working  out  in  that  direction,  yet  she  was  distressed 
by  it.  Ah,  why  ?  She  knew. 

She  had  been  glad  to  have  her  daughter  go  back  to 
the  convent,  she  was  reluctant  at  the  thought  of  hav- 


108       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

ing  Harry  there,  at  home,  because  of  the  great  change 
which  had  occurred  in  Frederick  Hoffman. 

The  New  Year  was  beginning  badly ;  how  badly  she 
could  not  yet  prophesy. 

She  slowly  went  into  the  hall,  secured  her  hat  and 
great  fur  coat,  and  slowly  went  into  the  dining-room 
for  Barbie's  help  with  them,  thinking  deeply,  and  not 
brightly,  every  second.  Barbie  stood  by  the  sideboard, 
counting  silver,  as  she  entered,  and  through  an  open 
window  a  veritable  gale  was  blowing. 

"What  in  the  world,  Barbie " 

"Oh,  this  old  stove's  been  smoking.  Getting  cranky 
in  its  old  age,  Mrs.  Hoffman." 

Was  that  it?  Was  that  what  ailed  Fred,  and  her 
self,  and  even  Barbie,  just  as  she  had  told  him?  Or 
was  it — was  it  something  far  more  dreadful  ? 

An  intense  chill  was  in  the  air.  She  shivered,  and 
her  morbid  reverie  was  broken. 

"Whew,  Barbie!  Close  the  window,  please;  it's 
very  cold.  We're  having  a  real  blizzard.  I'll  have  a 
time  in  getting  over  to  Mrs.  Miller's." 

Barbie,  after  having  closed  the  window,  stood  look 
ing  at  her  deprecatingly.  "Oh,  Mrs.  Hoffman! 
iYou're  not  going  out  in  all  this  storm !" 

"Yes ;  I  must.  It's  rather  a  serious  case.  Poor  lit 
tle  woman!"  Her  face  was  most  expressive  when  it 
mirrored  sympathy.  It  showed  as  plain  on  it  as  mirth 
or  sorrow  could.  There  are  such  faces.  "It's  her  first 
baby." 

Barbie  evidently  had  forgotten  this  emergency  of  a 
poor  neighbor;  when  it  was  recalled  to  her  she  made 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       109 

no  further  protest,  but  nodded  understand  ingly  and 
prepared  to  help  her  with  her  wraps. 

"You  know  all  about  the  dinner?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Hoffman — of  course."  This  was  spoken 
almost  with  reproach. 

"Be  sure  to  give  the  turkey  two  full  hours.  Mr. 
Hoffman  thought  the  last  one  was  a  little  tough." 

Barbie  understood.  No  wonder  if  her  mistress  wor 
ried  in  these  days  of  criticisms,  grumblings,  general 
dissatisfactions  from  the  master  of  the  house! 

"Oh,  the  old  gentleman's  always  kicking,"  she  re 
plied,  presuming  on  her  privileges,  as  she  often  did, 
with  Anna.  "Nothing  suits  him  nowadays.  For 
twenty-five  years  I  did  everything  right,  and  now,  all 
of  a  sudden,  do  what  I  can,  from  morning  until 
night,  he's  always  grumbling.  And  he  hollers  at  me 
so!" 

Anna  looked  at  her  a  little  puzzled  as  to  whether  or 
not  she  ought  to  scold  her  for  her  criticism  of  her  hus 
band.  Her  face,  her  little  sigh,  plainly  told  her  mental 
processes  when  she  decided  that  she  need  not  do  so. 

"Barbie,"  she  said  slowly,  "the  trouble  with  us  all  is 
that  we  are  getting  old.  Mr.  Hoffman  is,  and  so  am  I 
— and  so  are  you." 

"Well,  suppose  a  body  does  forget  a  little !"  Then, 
suddenly,  Barbie  was  stricken  with  a  light  of  memory. 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Hoffman,  let  me  take  your  things  away.  I 
plain  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  doctor  sent  word  over 
that  you  needn't  go  to  Mrs.  Miller's.  Mrs.  Valentine 
is  going  to  stay  with  her.  She  used  to  be  a  trained 
nurse,  didn't  she  ?  They're  such  nice  young  people !" 


110       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Anna  shook  her  finger  at  her  solemnly.  "There! 
See  ?  We're  getting  old !"  She  slowly  doffed  her  hat 
and  cloak  and  handed  them  to  the  old  servant,  moving 
somewhat  wearily.  "I  realize  it  when  I  find  myself 
so  tired,  so  willing  to  shirk  duty.  I  am  worn  out  at 
the  end  of  every  day." 

"And  no  wonder."  Barbie  spoke  a  little  crossly,  but 
there  was  a  depth  of  real  affection  in  her  voice.  "If 
you'd  only  spare  yourself  a  little,  instead  of  thinking 
of  everybody  else  first — the  old  gentleman  and  Mr. 
Harry — and  me,  too,  for  that  matter." 

Anna  sank  into  a  chair,  again  sighing  deeply.  "I 
mean  to  take  things  much  more  easily  when  that  young 
woman  comes  to  help  me.  I  expected  a  letter  from  her 
to-day,  but  from  what  Mr.  Alston  tells  me,  it  is  very 
likely  that  she's  on  her  way  here  now." 

Barbie's  softness  vanished.  She  was  intensely  jeal 
ous  of  this  newcomer,  even  in  advance  of  her  arrival. 
"She  needn't  help  me"  she  declared.  "Mrs.  Hoffman, 
let  me  tell  you  now,  this  minute,  I  won't  take  any  or 
ders  from  that — person.  Not  me,  Mrs.  Hoffman! 
Not  me!" 

Anna  smiled  wearily  at  her,  placating  her.  She  had 
expected  her  to  be  a  little  bitter  over  what  she  would 
be  certain  to  consider  an  invasion  of  her  rights.  "Don't 
let  that  worry  you,  Barbie.  The  young  lady  comes  to 
assist  me." 

She  emphasized  the  "lady"  slightly  so  that  there 
could  be  no  error.  She  had  not  written  for  the  girl 
because  she  wanted  a  new  servant ;  she  wanted  a  com 
panion,  some  one  to  cheer  and  to  talk  to  her.  She  had 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       111 

gained  a  wholly  wrong  idea  of  the  sort  of  person  who 
was  on  the  way,  because  Alston  had  had  a  wrong  idea 
given  him  by  Murfree. 

"No  one  shall  interfere  with  your  affairs,"  she 
promised  Barbie,  looking  at  her  with  real  affection  in 
her  eyes,  and  smiling  more  fully  as  she  saw  the  squat 
old  woman,  gray-haired,  her  lips  set  firmly  in  her  abso 
lute  determination,  one  foot  tapping  the  floor  firmly 
beneath  her  stiffly  starched  and  spreading  calico,  her 
eyes  glaring  into  elevated  space.  "You  old  grumbler !" 

"All  right,  so  long's  that's  understood,"  said  Barbie. 
She  was  making  no  concessions.  "But,  Mrs.  Hoffman, 
we've  managed  to  get  along  all  these  years.  I  believe 
in  letting  well  enough  alone."  She  shook  her  head, 
like  an  old  bird  of  ill-omen  with  plumage  of  gray 
print.  "Those  puffed-up  city  girls — they're  not  much 
of  a  help."  Then,  a  new  thought  occurring  to  her, 
after  an  instant's  dissatisfied  silence :  "And,  Mrs.  Hoff 
man,  you  may  be  sorry,  you  may  be  sorry  in  particu 
lar,  now  that  Mr.  Harry  is  to  stay  at  home !" 

Anna  smiled.  Rising,  she  went  to  the  sideboard, 
her  fingers  automatically  seeking  some  employment, 
picked  up  a  doily,  folding  it.  As  she  placed  it  in  a 
drawer,  she  looked  at  Barbie  as  if  the  crabbed  servi 
tor's  final  statement  had  been  too  silly  to  be  seriously 
considered.  "Barbie!  Harry  is  not  so  empty-headed 
as  all  that !" 

The  pessimistic  look  with  which  the  croaker  met  this 
made  her  definitely  laugh. 

"The  young  woman  is  not  even  in  the  house  yet, 
and  you  have  the  whole  romance  done  and  ready  to 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

serve !"  She  handed  her  the  bunch  of  keys  which  was 
ever  at  her  belt  when  she  was  considering  household 
matters.  "Get  some  preserves  for  dinner." 

"Cherries?" 

"Yes ;  and  pears  for  Harry." 

A  ring  at  the  front  door  announced  a  messenger 
with  news  that  Mrs.  Miller  was,  after  all,  in  need  of 
her. 

"It  is  too  bad  that  I've  delayed.  Will  you  help  me 
with  my  wraps?" 

Harry  entered,  whistling,  while  this  process  was  in 
progress.  He  had  come  in  from  out-of-doors  by  the 
kitchen  way,  a  habit  born  of  prior  years,  when  the 
kitchen  way  had  meant  doughnuts  and  other  dainties 
held  for  him  in  sacred  trust  by  Barbie.  If  he  had 
seemed  very  much  the  elegant  young  gentleman,  in 
his  evening  clothes,  the  night  before,  he  now  seemed 
as  much  the  vital,  sturdy  and  worthwhile  young  man, 
dressed  for  the  fierce  storm,  as  he  was,  in  sweater  and 
heavy  jacket,  with  his  trousers  caught  in  sportsman's 
shoes,  lacing  nearly  to  the  knee.  Anna  stopped  to 
gaze  at  him  with  secret  pride,  pretending,  meanwhile, 
to  be  buttoning  her  long  seal  coat,  which  Barbie  had 
already  buttoned — a  mother's  subterfuge. 

"You  aren't  going  out,  mother,  in  such  weather?" 
he  exclaimed,  solicitously. 

"Yes ;  I'm  going  over  to  see  Mrs.  Miller." 

He  knew  what  was  happening  at  the  Miller  house, 
and  his  voice  hushed  with  the  instant  delicacy  of  a 
clean-souled  youth  when  considering  with  innate  re 
serve  the  woman's  mysteries  of  such  a  time.  His  sub- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       11$ 

dued  voice,  as  he  answered,  pleased  Anna  as  much  as 
his  appearance  did.  How  she  worshiped  him ! 

"Oh,  yes.  I  see."  He  made  no  further  protest. 
"I'll  walk  with  you.  The  snow's  knee-deep.  You  may 
need  me  to  break  the  way." 

"Oh " 

He  smiled  at  her  and  stopped  her  protest.  "I  want 
to  go  down  to  the  post-office,  anyway."  This  brought 
back  his  sorrows  of  the  night  before,  his  disgust  with 
Belleville.  "No  letters,  no  papers — in  nearly  two 
days!" 

The  mother's  understanding  caught  quickly  at  what 
was  in  his  mind.  She  deeply  sympathized  with  him, 
but,  inasmuch  as  his  father  had  sent  forth  the  ukase, 
she  must  not  encourage  him  in  his  dissatisfaction. 
Criticism  of  Belleville  was  akin  to  an  expression  of 
dissatisfaction  with  the  paternal  plans. 

"What  can  you  expect  in  such  a  storm?"  she  said 
guardedly,  as  if  she  urged  him  to  be  fair  to  Belleville. 

But  he  could  not  be  fair  to  Belleville.  His  disap 
pointment  was  too  bitter  and  the  wound  too  raw. 

"Wouldn't  this  town  kill  you?"  he  exclaimed  de 
jectedly.  "If  it  snows  for  a  couple  of  hours  you're 
cut  off  from  the  world!"  He  dropped  his  eyes, 
abashed  before  her  steady  and  reproachful  gaze,  then 
raised  them,  suddenly  gazing  full  at  her.  "Mother, 
do  you  know  what  the  boys  at  college  call  this  place  ?'r 

"No,  dear;  what?" 

"  'Good-night,"  said  he  explosively. 

"Harry,  it's  our  home.  You  will  appreciate  it  more 
and  more  as  you  grow  older." 


114       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"I  know,  but  great  heavens,  mother!  I  can't  help 
being  young,  and  it's  no  place  for  a  young  fellow !" 

She  moved,  as  if,  perhaps,  to  delay  going  until  this 
matter  had  been  talked  out,  once  for  all.  It  was  hard 
for  her — this  listening  to  his  protests.  Possibly,  she 
felt  more  keenly  than  he  did  himself,  the  tragedy  of 
making  him  give  up  his  Law  School  and  settle  down 
to  humdrum  study  of  his  father's  factory,  its  output 
and  the  distribution  of  the  wares.  "Dear!"  she  said, 
half  in  reproach,  half  in  keen  sympathy. 

He  was  quick  to  catch  the  slight  note  of  distress  and 
instantly  endeavored  to  absolve  her  of  responsibility 
and  show  her  that  he  could  look  on  the  situation's 
bright  side. 

"In  the  summer  it's  all  right.  There's  good  golf, 
some  pretty  girls  at  the  Country  Club  and  a  chance  to 
run  down  to  Buffalo  to  see  a  ball  game,  now  and  then. 
But  in  the  winter !  Oh,  it's  so  dead  lonesome !  Can't 
do  a  thing!  And  writing  out  inventories  and  looking 
after  a  million  dull  things  in  the  factories  is  going  to 
get  on  my  nerves." 

A  moment's  pause,  while  she  was  striving  to  find 
words  and  he  was  glooming  at  the  carpet,  was  fol 
lowed  by  an  instant's  burst  of  hopefulness  on  his  part. 

"Say,  mother,"  he  demanded  eagerly,  "don't  you 
think  father  might  let  me  have  a  few  weeks  in  New 
York  before  I — settle  down?  Can't  you  work  it  for 
me?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "I'm  afraid  not,  Harry." 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair.  "Just  think — almost 
all  my  friends  are  there !  I  don't  especially  know  these 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       115 

chaps  in  Belleville.  I  don't  say  they're  not  all  right, 
but — you  know,  mother!  And  as  for  Belleville  girls 
— and  think  of  the  fellows  at  the  Law  School,  now — 
getting  back  to  work  in  the  old  hall,  while  I  mope  here 
beside  the  stove !  And  no  more  hops !" 

She  shook  her  head,  almost  discouraged.  "How 
like  your  father!  But,  Harry,  we  have  very  nice  en 
tertainments  here,  too.  There  is  a  concert  and  dance 
at  Masonic  Hall  on  Saturday  evening,  and " 

He  rose,  protesting.  "I'll  stake  you  to  it,  mother. 
Do  you  think  I'd  put  on  a  dress  suit  for  the  Belleville 
— cream  of  society?  What  a  chance!" 

She  saw  the  plain  futility  of  arguing  with  him  and 
gave  it  up.  "Come,  Harry,  a  little  walk  will  do  you 
good." 

"Anything  for  movement— even  if  it's  walking." 
He  tucked  the  scarf  in  close  about  her  neck.  "I  don't 
blame  you,  mother.  Where's  father?" 

"He  has  come  in.    I  think  he's  taking  a  nap." 

"That's  all  you  can  do  here — sleep.  There's  a 
chance  that  you  may  dream.  Mother,  this  sameness 
here  will  kill  me!" 

The  mingled  tragedy  and  comedy  in  the  boy's  man 
ner,  its  fretful  childishness,  in  contrast  to  his  manly 
stature,  made  her  smile  and  broke  the  growing  tension. 

"Come  along,  you  big  boy !"  She  drew  him  to  her 
and  ran  her  fingers  through  his  hair.  "I'm  sure  you 
will  enjoy  the  dance."  She  smiled  at  him.  "And 
there's  Dorothy,  you  know!" 

He  nodded  with  approval.  "Yes,  she's — all — right, 
Dorothy  Mason!  Isn't  she  a  wonder?" 


116       THE   MASTER    OF   THE    HOUSE 

Anna  was  delighted.  "And  she's  the  heiress  of  the 
Senator,  you  know!  Senator  Stevenson  is  one  of  the 
richest  men  in  this  part  of  the  state,  and  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  in  Congress." 

Harry  made  a  gesture  of  mock  fright.  "He  won't 
be  at  the  dance,  will  he?" 

"Come  on,  Harry — and  if  he  were  to  be,  you  know 
you'd  have  a  better  time  because  of  it.  The  Senator 
is  full  of  fun." 

"And  seventy — that's  the  age  of  most  of  Belleville's 
fun !  I  tell  you,  mother,  a  man  can  stand  almost  any 
thing  that  comes  along  in  life,  but  when  it  happens  to 
be  one  of  those  Belleville  dancing  affairs — brrrr ! — not 
— for — muh !  Well,  there's  no  use  kicking,  I  suppose. 
Come  along!"  He  started  toward  the  hall  door  just 
as  that  which  opened  to  the  library  swung  open. 
"Hurry!  Here  comes  father!"  With  a  look  of  ap 
prehension,  half  in  earnest,  half  ir  run,  he  hastened 
from  the  room. 

Anna  turned  to  greet  her  husband  "You  up  al 
ready?" 

His  sleep  evidently  had  not  cheered  his  temper. 
"Already!"  he  snapped  sharply.  "Why  already? 
How  long  did  you  think  I'd  sleep?  Haven't  slept, 
anyway.  Barbie  throws  the  dishes  around  like  mad. 
No  one  could  sleep  through  such  a  noise." 

Anna  offered  no  defense  of  Barbie,  did  not  criticize 
her  husband  for  his  temper,  did  not  yield  to  him.  She 
merely  looked  at  him  kindly,  tolerantly,  not  in  the  least 
astonished.  "Well,  well,  I'll  have  to  speak  to  her." 

The  day  was  waning  and  the  falling  snow,  outside, 
had  dimmed  the  light  a  little  further.  It  was  not  dark 


N 
THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   117 

•within  the  room,  but  the  daylight  was  not  brilliant. 
"Why  don't  she  turn  on  the  lights  ?"  he  snapped. 

"It  is  still  daylight." 

"Daylight  ?"  he  snarled,  as  he  went  across  the  room 
toward  his  small  smokers'  table.  "Call  this  daylight? 
I  call  it  pitch  dark !" 

Anna  went  calmly  to  the  door.  "Come,  Barbie," 
she  called.  "Turn  on  the  lights." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  turn  the  light  on  now — before 
it's  dark  ?"  said  Barbie,  coming  in,  astonished. 

"Yes!"  said  Hoffman  angrily.  Then,  seeing  on  his 
wife's  face  an  expression  of  reproach,  he  added:  "If 
you  please!" 

Barbie  was  distressed  and  fluttered  helplessly.  "Mr. 
Hoffman  hollers  at  me  so !"  she  cried,  upon  the  verge 
of  tears. 

"What  more  can  I  say  than  'if  you  please  ?'  "  the 
master  of  the  house  demanded. 

After  one  frightened  look  at  him  Barbie  hurried 
out  to  turn  the  switch. 

Anna  went  to  her  husband — slowly,  calmly,  not  at 
all  upset.  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  more  soothing 
to  the  rasped  man's  temper  had  she  shown  some  ten 
dency  to  worry  as  a  tribute  to  it. 

"You  are  not  in  a  very  good  humor,"  she  suggested. 
"What  has  vexed  you,  Fred  ?" 

He  stood  glooming,  silent. 

"Have  you  had  trouble  at  the  factory  ?" 

"No,"  said  he,  as  finally  the  lights  flashed  on. 

She  made  no  further  reference  to  his  outburst,  but 
stood  a  moment  looking  at  him  puzzled.  "I  should 
like  to  go  over  to  Mrs.  Miller.  She  may  need  me." 


He  turned  nervously  on  her.  "Well,  if  you'd  like 
to  go,  why  not  go  ?" 

"Perhaps  you'd  rather  I  stayed  here." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "It  makes  no 
difference  to  me,  one  way  or  the  other."  Then,  as 
Anna  started  toward  the  door,  he  shot  a  nervous  glance 
about  the  room.  "Of  course  she  has  forgotten  to 
draw  the  curtains!"  He  made  a  step  or  two  toward 
the  door  which  led  into  the  dining-room.  "Barbie! 
Barbie!" 

"Never  mind — I'll  do  it,"  Anna  urged  him,  and 
pulled  down  the  shades  and  closed  the  hangings. 

"She  forgets  everything  lately!"  Hoffman  grumbled. 
He  found  a  cigar  and  lighted  it,  while  Anna  lingered 
at  the  door,  apparently  not  worried,  but  much  puzzled. 

"Has  Valentine  come  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"No;  but  he  surely  will,"  she  answered  soothingly. 

"I  didn't  ask  you  if  he  surely  would;  I  asked  you 
if  he'd  come." 

"No ;  he's  not  been  here." 

"Did  Beatrice  send  a  telegram?" 

"None  has  come.  But  the  wires  are  very  likely 
down,  you  know,  Fred.  Such  a  storm " 

"A  nice  fix  to  be  in !  Not  even  a  newspaper !  The 
whole  world  might  have  come  to  an  end  and  we'd 
know  nothing  of  it!" 

"They'll  have  things  opened  by  to-morrow.  This  is 
most  unusual.  We'll  get  everything,  letters,  papers, 
telegrams,  to-morrow.  I've  been  anxious  to  hear 
something  from  that  young  woman  Mr.  Alston  found 
for  me." 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE       119 

This  apparently  was  a  sore  spot  with  him.  "Was  it 
necessary — really  necessary — to  burden  yourself  with 
a  companion  ?" 

"Not  necessary,  possibly,  but  wise,  I'm  sure.  I'm 
not  as  young  and  strong  as  I  used  to  be,  Fred,  and 
there's  really  too  much  in  this  big  place  for  me  to  look 
after.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  some  one  to  assist  me, 
at  least  till  Beatrice  has  finished  school  and  can  stay 
here  at  home." 

"Well,  I  don't  care,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  he 
said,  indifferently.  "You  can  engage  ten  'companions,' 
if  you  like.  As  for  Beatrice — you  needn't  count  on 
her  for  much  assistance!  I  wish  I'd  asked  her — I'll 
bet  that  in  the  year  she's  been  away  she's  forgotten 
what  a  kitchen  looks  like!  Did  she  go  out  to  the 
kitchen  once  while  she  was  home  ?" 

"I  don't  remember,  Fred.  I  am  sure  I  would  have 
much  preferred  to  keep  my  girl  at  home  and  not  send 
her  off  to  school.  You  thought  it  best,  as  well  as  I, 
you  know.  And  things  here  would  have  been  dull  for 
her.  The  young  woman  Mr.  Alston  found  for  me 
comes  with  good  recommendations.  She  will  be  a 
companion  for  Beatrice  when  she  comes  home  again 
as  well  as  an  assistance  to  me.  Harry,  too,  is  feeling 
rather  badly.  It  has  made  him  gloomy  to  give  up  his 
Law  School.  He's  lonesome  and — dejected." 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course !"  her  husband  said  sarcastically. 
"The — young — gentleman!  In  the  summer  it  suits  his 
taste  well  enough  to  be  here;  but  in  the  winter — oh, 
then  he  prefers  New  York!" 

"It  came  rather  suddenly  to  him,  Fred.     He  says 


120       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

there  are  a  lot  of  loose  ends  there  that  he  would  like 
to  straighten  up." 

"Debts  ?"    Hoffman's  voice  was  instantly  suspicious. 

"Oh,  Fred!  Harry?  You  know  better!  Social 
things.  He  makes  friends  so  swiftly.  He'd  like  to  say 
good-by  to  them.  Perhaps  you'd  let  him  go  down 
for  a  week  or  two " 

"Not  for  a  day!  He'll  have  to  get  used  to  Belle 
ville  life.  He  can  make  friends  here,  as  we  have  done. 
I  had  to  get  used  to  Belleville,  didn't  I  ?  I  didn't  even 
finish  college,  did  I  ?" 

Anna  looked  at  him  without  comment.  The  bell 
rang  and  she  went  to  the  window,  looking  out.  "Mr. 
Valentine  has  come." 

"At  last  he  shows  up !" 

With  a  helpless  gesture  Anna  left  the  room.  She 
said  nothing  when  she  found  Harry  waiting  in  the 
hall.  She  could  scarcely  blame  the  boy  for  wishing 
to  avoid  his  father. 

In  the  meantime  the  young  manager  went  in,  some 
what  timidly.  Hoffman  turned  to  him  less  grouchily, 
but  with  little  greeting  in  his  "How  do  you  do,  Val 
entine?"  And  he  gave  him  not  the  slightest  New 
Year  greeting. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hoffman?" 

"Did  you  finish  up  those  statements  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Let  me  see  them."  As  he  took  them  he  waved  the 
young  man  to  a  chair,  but  did  not  look  at  him.  His 
eyes  were  on  the  papers. 

Barbie  came  in  with  a  tray  on  which  a  claret-bottle 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       121 

stood.  She  liked  Mr.  Valentine  and  was  afraid  that 
Hoffman  would  forget  his  hospitality.  He  would 
have  had  she  not  attracted  his  attention  to  his  duties 
as  a  host. 

Noting  her  reminder  he  glanced  at  her  somewhat 
resentfully,  but  accepted  the  hint  with  reasonable 
grace. 

But  there  were  no  glasses  on  the  tray.  "Glasses! 
.  .  .  If  you  please!"  he  snapped. 

She  started  violently.  "Well,  can't  a  body  be  a  little 
forgetful  once  in  a  while?"  she  said  in  desperation. 
She  found  the  glasses  on  the  sideboard  and  out  them 
on  the  tray.  "I  never " 

"Don't  annoy  me,"  Hoffman  snarled  at  her. 

She  was  very  nervous.    "Yes,  sir — I  mean  no,  sir." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her.  "Have  a  drink,  Val 
entine  ?" 

"Thank  you."  The  young  man  took  the  glass  of 
claret,  but  did  not  lift  it  to  his  lips.  He  was  evidently 
worried.  He  watched  Hoffman's  face  with  nervous 
eyes. 

Hoffman  did  not  look  at  him.  He  was  studying  the 
papers.  "What  an  awful  statement!  Simply  awful! 
,The  worst  I  ever  saw." 

Valentine  made  no  direct  reply,  but  held  his  glass 
up.  "My  best  wishes  for  the  new  year,  Mr.  Hoff 
man!" 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  statement,"  his 
employer  answered  grumpily,  and  Valentine  put  down 
his  glass  again,  the  wine  in  it  untasted. 

"Sales  ten  per  cent,  short  of  last  month's,"  con- 


122       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

tinued   his    employer.      "Expenses    seven   per   cent. 

greater !" 

"Trade  is  always  dull  during  the  holidays,"  said  the 

manager  apologetically. 

"Last  year  we  managed  to  keep  up  the  average." 

"But  times  are  hard  just  now,  Mr.  Hoffman." 

"I  am  looking  for  results,  not  for  excuses!"     His 

employer  rapped  the  table  with  his  knuckles.     "I've 

relied  too  much  on  you,  that's  been  the  trouble.    You'll 

have  Harry  now  to  help  you.    I  guess  he's  needed — if 

he  proves  to  be  of  any  use." 

"We'll  do  our  best,  sir.    Of  course,  no  one  can  ever 

be  to  the  business  what  you  are,  Mr.  Hoffman.    We 
» 

"That  is  no  consolation.  I  am  getting  tired,  Valen 
tine.  You  must  take  hold  and  accomplish  things.  And 
I  want  you  to  see  that  Harry  fits  himself  to  step  into 
my  shoes."  Again  he  rapped  the  table  almost  angrily, 
as  if  he  fancied  that  the  task  of  fitting  Harry  to  be 
useful  would  be  difficult. 

"I've  had  some  success,  as  you  know " 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  keep  at  it.  The  trouble  with 
you  young  fellows,  the  trouble  with  this  whole  genera 
tion,  is  that  you  haven't  had  the  old-fashioned  train 
ing.  There  was  my  father.  Look  back  at  him!  He 
came  over  to  this  country  with  just  two  strong  arms, 
a  sound  body  and  a  good  brain,  but  he  worked — 
worked  hard!  He  worked  until  his  business  had 
spread  over  the  whole  state.  But  all  that  did  not 
give  him  the  idea  of  making  life  easy  for  me.  He 
took  me  out  of  college  at  nineteen  and  made  me 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       123 

learn  the  business  from  the  ground  up.  He  gave  me 
plenty  of  work — and  ten  dollars  a  week!  You — ' 
and  that  young  gentleman  son  of  mine — with  your 
modern  ideas!" 

Valentine  was  squirming  most  uncomfortably.  He 
was  glad  that  Harry  was  to  stay  at  home  and  help. 
He  felt  that  his  employer's  constant  dissatisfaction 
was  getting  beyond  him.  "Well,  sir " 

As  he  had  not  the  least  idea  what  he  possibly  could 
say  to  stem  the  flood,  he  was  glad  that  at  that  moment 
the  bell  rang. 

Hoffman,  distracted  from  his  criticism,  turned 
sharply  toward  the  door.  "Is  that  someone  for  me? 
.  .  .  Barbie!  Barbie!" 

The  grateful  Valentine  went  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  to  the  porch.  "It's  Mr.  Alston,  sir." 

Hoffman  was  appeased.  "Well,  that's  good  of  him! 
To  come  here  in  this  storm!" 

Barbie  had  reached  the  door  and  Alston  entered, 
rubbing  his  cold  hands.  "Brrrrr !  A  regular  blizzard ! 
You  can't  see  five  yards  in  front  of  you.  Hello, 
Fred." 

Hoffman  went  to  him  with  outstretched  hands, 
genuinely  pleased.  "Hello,  Alston.  How's  my  dis 
tinguished  friend  and  attorney?  Get  that  muffler  off." 

Barbara  was  standing,  smiling,  ready  to  receive  it. 
Plainly  Alston  was  a  favorite  with  her. 

"Well,  now;  thank  you,  Miss  Barbara,"  he  said 
merrily,  as  he  passed  it  to  her  keeping. 

"  'Miss  Barbara!'    Oh,  Mr.  Alston!" 

"I  mean  Barbie." 


124?       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

She  smiled  at  him  and  went  off  with  the  muffler 
and  his  coat  and  cap. 

Hoffman  poured  a  glass  of  wine.  "Here,  have  some 
claret.  It'll  warm  you  up.  It's  good — 1904." 

Alston  nodded  and  then  turned  to  Valentine.  "Mr. 
Valentine,  how  do  you  do?" 

"Fine,  thank  you,  Mr.  Alston,"  said  the  much- 
relieved  young  man.  Then,  with  a  glance  of  his  em 
ployer:  "I  think  I  must  be  going." 

"All  right,  Valentine,"  Hoffman  consented,  cheerily, 
and  handed  him  the  glass,  which  the  worried  youth 
had  not  had  the  heart  to  touch  his  lips  to.  "Here, 
finish  up  your  drink." 

"Thank  you.  Mr.  Alston — Mr.  Hoffman — a  happy 
New  Year  to  you!" 

Within  a  moment  he  had  bowed  himself  away, 
feeling  that,  by  going,  he  might  be  dodging  dire 
disaster. 

Hoffman  found  cigars  and  offered  them  to  Alston. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  thought  I'd  just  run 
over  for  a  little  visit.  Felt  like  seeing  you  before 
the  first  day  of  the  new  year  passed — both  of  you!" 

"Too  bad  Anna  isn't  here — but  some  woman's  hav 
ing  her  first  baby  and  she's  gone  to  see  what  can 
be  done.  You'll  stay  for  dinner,  though?" 

"No;  sorry,  but  I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

"A  New  Year's  night  party  at  the  Bachelors'  Club." 

"From  which  you  should  have  resigned  long  ago." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Alston,  making  himself  com 
fortable,  "but  it's  too  late  now.  No  woman  I  would 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

want  would  have  me,  and  the  ones  who'd  have  me  I 
don't  want.  There  you  are !"  He  settled  comfortably 
into  the  easy  chair.  "Fred,  it's  about  time  that 
we  realized  we're  no  longer  spring  chickens — you 
and  I." 

"You're  right,  Alston.  It  is  sad  but  true.  Why, 
only  last  year  they  still  called  me  'Mr.  Hoffman,'  but 
the  minute  word  was  passed  around  that  Harry  was 
to  stay  at  home,  why,  I  became  the  'old  gentleman.' 
I  heard  it  twice  this  morning.  It  sent  me  home  to 
take  a  nap — to  sleep  it  off."  He  took  his  cigar  from 
between  his  lips  and  looked  at  it  reflectively.  "Ah, 
Alston — it  hurts!" 

Alston  nodded.     "I  hope  Harry  will  do  well." 

"Oh,  he'll  do  well  enough.  He's  young,  and, 
naturally,  he'll  find  things  dull  here.  But  he'll  settle 
down — as  I  did — and  some  day  he'll  fill  my  place." 

"It's  a  worthy  ambition — a  leading  citizen  of  the 
state  to  whom  we  all  point  with  pride." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  his  old  friend,  smiling 
with  satisfaction — as  a  cat  purrs  under  stroking.  "I 
was  brought  up  to  do  the  things  I  had  to  do — and  to 
do  them  well.  I've  tried.  I'm  a  little  rough,  perhaps — > 
impulsive.  I've  always  been  a  man  of  impulse, 
and "  he  looked  up  briskly,  with  firm  self-assur 
ance,  "experience  has  taught  me  that  my  impulses 
are — generally — right.  It's  always  so.  So  once  my 
mind  is  made  up,  I  see  it  through  to  the  end.  But 
I  was  very  much  like  Harry  at  his  age.  I,  too,  thought 
I  could  never  stand  the  sameness  of  it  here.  I  wanted 
to  go  out  into  the  world  and  do  great  things.  But 


126       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

— I  was  chained  here,  first  by  my  father,  then  by  my 
business,  then  by — my  wife." 

"She  should  have  consoled  you,  Fred." 

"Well,  you  know  how  young  I  was  when  we  were 
married.  It  was  my  father's  wish." 

For  the  first  time  Alston  sensed  that  there  were  in 
the  conversation  hints  that  Hoffman  had  not  really 
been  happy,  a  hint,  even,  that  he  had  not  found  in 
married  life  just  what  he  had  looked  forward  to, 
or,  at  least,  hoped  for.  "Fred!"  he  said  reproach 
fully. 

Hoffman  was  quick  to  feel  the  veiled  reproof.  "Oh, 
I  don't  mean  to  say  a  word  against  my  wife.  She 
is  really — the  best.  Why,  Alston,  when  I  read  about 
some  of  the  women,  nowadays — their  whims,  their 
fancies  and  caprices — and,  above  all,  their  extrava 
gance — and  then  look  at  Anna,  always  the  same,  calm, 
practical,  careful " 

"Sounds  like  a  servant's  recommendation,"  Alston 
commented  dryly. 

"Well,  now — you  know  what  I  mean.  Oh,  we  get 
on  well  enough  together.  Years  of  association,  habit 
— they'll  do  much,  you  know,  Alston.  And  the  chil 
dren.  There's  the  strongest  tie  of  all." 

"Of  course." 

"But  there  are  times,  Alston " 

Alston  was  a  little  shocked,  indefinitely,  but  per 
ceptibly.  He  hastened  with  an  interruption,  which 
might  mean  much  or  nothing. 

"Luckily,  Fred,  you've  never  had  much  time  to 
squander." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       127 

Was  it  that  Alston  thought  that  if  he  had  had 
more  time  he  might  have  been  less  happy,  even  than 
he  now  seemed  willing  to  admit?  Or  was  it  that  he 
thought  that  if  he  had  had  more  time  to  squander, 
feeling  as  he  did,  he  might  have  put  that  time  to 
questionable  use? 

Hoffman  did  not  catch  the  point  at  all.  "No,  you're 
right  there,"  he  went  on.  "Work,  nothing  but  work, 
all  my  life.  Ever  since  I  left  college — and  I  left 
in  my  junior  year.  Remember?" 

"Yes ;  in  your  junior  year."  This  brought  reminis 
cence  into  Alston's  mind.  "My,  my!  How  sorry  all 
the  fellows  were  to  see  you  go!"  He  smiled  fondly. 
"We  certainly  did  love  our  big,  kind-hearted  Fritziel 
You  were  kind-hearted  in  those  days,  Fred." 

If  there,  again,  criticism  lay  veiled  and  hidden, 
Hoffman  did  not  catch  it,  and  Alston  hurried  on : 

"Fritzie!  You  remember?  Everybody  called  you 
'Fritzie.'  " 

Hoffman  nodded,  real  smiles  on  his  face  now — not 
merry  possibly,  but  comfortable,  pleasant,  thoughtful 
of  old  days,  old  joys. 

"How  time  flies!  It  seems  like  yesterday  .  .  , 
the  boys  going  down  to  the  station  with  me  .  ,:  * 
you,  Harry  Black " 

"And  'Skinny!'     You  remember  'Skinny?'* 

Hoffman  laughed  aloud.  "Yes;  Charlie  Williams. 
All  good  fellows !  I  can  see  the  train  as  it  pulled  in — 
the  train  I  was  to  go  away  on!  We  shook  hands 
and"  (his  voice  softened)  "I  never  saw  most  of  them 
again." 


128       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

The  present  had  no  power  to  draw  up  from  his 
heart  into  his  eyes  such  sentiment  as  had  the  olden 
days — that  was  plain. 

"And  say,  Alston,"  he  went  on,  "when  they  started 
in  to  sing — for  the  first  time  in  my  life — I  cried !" 

Alston  nodded  and  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes.  It 
was  the  sentiment  in  him,  perhaps,  which  had  made 
him  a  good  jury-lawyer.  Smiling  through  the  rising 
mist  he  softly  hummed  the  old,  dear  song: 

"Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 

And  never  brought  to  mind? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 

And  the  days  of  auld  lang  syne." 

In  the  middle  of  the  verse  Fred  joined  him,  singing 
second,  as  he  had  in  college.  His  voice  was  resonant, 
and  the  chords  were  true  college  glee-club  harmony. 
It  made  both  men  smile  with  rare  enjoyment;  and 
it  brought  tears,  now,  to  Fred's,  as  well  as  Alston's 
eyes. 

"Ah,  those  were  the  happy  days  of  our  youth,"  said 
Alston. 

"For  a  few  years  after  they  were  over,"  Hoffman 
granted,  "I  suffered  tortures  here,  but  I  have  grad 
ually  grown  calm — resigned."  He  rose,  somewhat 
nervously,  wholly  needlessly,  and  re-arranged  a  chair 
or  two.  "And  now,"  he  said,  in  a  full  voice  and 
with  a  wry  face,  turning  again  to  Alston,  "I  am  the 
'old  gentleman.'  Harry,  I  suppose,  will  have  to  sow 
his  wild  oats  while  he  is  the  'young'  one,  but,  after 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

all,  the  sooner  he,  too,  marries  and  settles  down,  the 
better  it  will  be  for  him,  of  cou/se." 

"May  he  fare  as  well  as  you  did,  Fred,"  said  Alston, 
with  real  feeling,  and,  raising  his  glass  slowly,  drank 
to  this  wish — this  wish  which  he  considered  the  best 
of  all  that  he  could  offer  the  young  son  of  his  old 
friend. 

"I  hope  so,"  Hoffman  answered  somewhat  dully. 

"In  the  meantime  I  will  propose  him  at  the 
Bachelors'  Club,"  said  Alston,  laughing.  "That  will 
fit  him  for  all  that's  coming  to  him."  He  raised  his 
glass  again.  "For  the  new  year!  I  drink — to  a 
happy  and  a  graceful  old  age!" 

Hoffman  touched  his  glass  to  his,  but  did  not  at 
all  endorse  the  toast.  "May  it  be  a  long  way  off!" 
he  said  instead.  "Here's  to  you!" 

When  the  glasses  were  again  upon  the  table,  Alston 
held  out  his  hand  and  his  host  gripped  it.  "May  we 
always  be  the  same  old  friends,  Fred — you  and  I." 

"You— and— I." 

After  a  long,  strong  pressure,  the  lawyer  started 
toward  the  door.  "Well,  I  must  be  off.  My  best 
regards  to  your  wife.  Also  to  the — 'young  gentle 
man.'  " 

"I  hope  you'll  have  a  good  time,  to-night,  Alston, 
but  I'd  rather  you'd  stay  here  and  play  me  a  few 
games  of  poker — or — pinochle — anything  you  like." 

"No;  I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

'I'm  ashamed  to  take  the  money."  He  laughed 
heartily  at  his  old  joke.  "Happy  New  Year,  Fred!" 


130       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Crying  "Same  to  you,  and  many  of  them,"  Hoffman 
followed  him  to  the  door  and  closed  it  after  him. 

The  geniality  which  his  face  had  shown  while 
Alston  had  been  there  fell  from  it,  mask-like,  as  soon 
as  he  had  gone.  Returning  to  the  library  he  frowned 
stormily  above  the  statements  Valentine  had  brought. 

"Such  management!"  he  growled  at  length.  "De 
crease,  decrease!  What  an  awful  statement!  The 
worst  I've  ever  seen." 

He  paced  the  room  excitedly.  The  consciousness 
was  in  him  that  he  was  blaming  Valentine  for  condi 
tions  of  the  trade,  that  his  wrath  was  rising  against 
Harry  in  advance,  on  the  assumption  that  he  would 
not  take  good  hold  of  the  business;  but  he  did  not 
swing  his  mind  into  more  reasonable  channels.  In 
stead,  he  let  his  spleen  accumulate  and  found  a  cer 
tain  joy  in  it.  It  was  ready  for  the  most  elaborate 
explosion  of  the  day  when  Barbie  entered,  after  there 
had  been  another  ring  at  the  front  door,  but  her 
manner  was  mysterious  and  ominous. 

"Mr.  Hoffman,  Mr.  Hoffman!"  she  mysteriously 
hissed,  her  face  plainly  showing  her  excitement. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"She's  here." 

"Who's  here?" 

Barbie,  quivering  with  jealous  wrath,  found  words 
difficult.  "That — young  woman!"  There  was  the 
force  and  meaning  of  an  expletive  in  the  two  innocent 
words.  "That  Miss " 

"Oh,  my  wife's  aide-de-camp." 

"If  that's  what  they  call  'em.  Anyway — she's 
here." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       131 

"How  did  she  get  here?  No  one  has  been  to  the 
station." 

"She  says  she  wrote  a  letter  from  New  York  day 
before  yesterday  saying  she'd  be  here  last  night.  But 
she  was  snowed  in — 'most  froze."  There  was  a  hint 
of  exultation  in  the  twist  which  Barbie  gave  these 
words — a  twist  of  exultation  because  the  interloper 
had  so  suffered,  and  a  hint  of  disappointment  because 
she  had  survived  the  suffering.  "She  says  she 
wrote." 

"Very  likely.    We've  had  no  mail  for  two  days." 

"Walked  from  the  station — through  snow  half  way 
to  her  waist,  she  says."  Again  the  hint  of  exultation. 
"What  shall  I  do  with  her?" 

The  question  angered  Hoffman.  "Do  with  her? 
What  do  I  know  about  it?  I  suppose  my  wife  has 
assigned  her  a  room  somewhere  in  the  house." 

Barbie  was  quite  helpless.  "But  there's  no  fire 
in  it!" 

This  was  too  much.  Hoffman  whirled  on  her. 
"Shall  I  make  the  fire?  You've  been  in  the  house 
twenty-five  years  and  don't  know  what  to  do !  What 
do  you  want  of  me?" 

Barbie,  in  that  terror  with  which  Hoffman's  tan 
trums  always  filled  her,  looked  at  him  and  gasped. 
Finally  she  managed  to  articulate:  "I  only  wanted 
to  ask  if — if  she  can't  wait  in  here,  while " 

Hoffman  turned  away  disgustedly.  "Oh,  don't 
bother  me!" 

Barbie's  face  was  twisting,  making  ready  for  a 
burst  of  nervous  tears.  Of  all  things  he  could  endure 
that  with  least  complacence^  so  he  yielded. 


132       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Let  her  come  in." 

Barbie  for  the  moment  was  incapable  of  movement, 
for  he  had  roared  permission  at  her  as  if  she  had 
been  deaf. 

"Well?"  he  exclaimed,  in  desperate  exasperation. 
"What  are  you  standing  around  for  ?  You  may  bring 
her  in,  I  said." 

Now  the  flurried  woman's  tears  came.  Here  was  a 
fine  beginning  of  the  new  young  woman's  stay!  How 
she  hated  her.  "On  account  of  that — that  thing — I 
have  to  be  hollered  at  again!"  she  moaned  and  went 
to  get  her. 

Really  rather  cold,  and  possibly  somewhat  dis 
mayed,  although  that  might  have  been  questioned  by 
those  who  knew  her  best,  Bettina,  in  the  hall,  had 
heard  part  of  the  dialogue.  As  Barbie  returned  to 
her  she  accelerated  her  shivering,  merely  as  a  matter 
of  general  policy.  To  play  for  sympathy  is  always 
a  safe  game  for  women.  It  won,  even  with  the 
worried  Barbie. 

"You're  cold,  ain't  you?  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of 
tea."  She  motioned  to  the  library.  "You  can  go 
right  in  there  for  a  while.  I'll  make  a  fire  up  in  your 
room." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bettina  gently. 

"You  heard  him  hollering?"  said  Barbie  confiden 
tially.  "That's  Mr.  Hoffman — the  old  gentleman. 
He's  got  an  awful  temper.  But  you  can  wait  in  there 
with  him." 

Bettina  nodded  and  moved  slowly  toward  the  door. 
"In  there?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       133 

"Uh-huh.  He  probably  won't  say  much  to  you  till 
he  knows  you  better.  When  you  know  him  as  well  as 
I  do — then — he'll  talk — and  when  he  does — look  out! 
And  poor  Mrs.  Hoffman " 

"Shall  I  go  in?"  Bettina  shivered  yet  more 
earnestly. 

"Yes ;  I'll  hurry  up  your  tea." 

With  that,  unable  to  endure  the  thought  of  waiting 
to  see  what  would  happen,  Barbie  hurried  toward  the 
kitchen. 

Then  Bettina,  slowly,  diffidently,  as  a  maiden  terri 
fied  by  venturing  in  new,  repellent  worlds  went  in. 

Hoffman  was  standing  by  his  desk  examining  some 
papers,  but  he  looked  toward  her  with  sullen  curiosity, 
offering  no  greeting. 

She  waited,  plainly  expecting  some  sort  of  a  wel 
come,  and  made  a  picture  of  affrighted  diffidence  as 
she  did  so.  It  had  no  effect  on  him,  except  to  make 
him  look  away,  but  he  glanced  up  at  the  end  of  a 
short  interval.  She  nodded  the  second  time. 

"I  am  Bettina  Curtis,"  she  now  ventured  in  a  thin, 
small,  panic-stricken  voice. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Hoffman  looked  at  her  askance,  and  growled,  rather 
than  replied  in  words.  He  disapproved  of  this  idea  of 
his  wife's.  Heavens!  Anna  would  soon  have  a  pay 
roll  as  long  as  his  down  at  the  factory!  The  house 
would  be  a  mere  hotel  for  servants  and  companions, 
hired  at  fancy  prices  to  do  what  it  seemed  to  him 
required  but  little  effort !  A  "companion !"  What  did 
Anna  want  of  a  companion?  Had  he  not  been  enough 
companion  for  her  all  these  years?  What  would  she 
think  of  him  if  he  engaged  some  New  York  youth  to 
come  to  Belleville  and  draw  wages  as  "companion" 
to  him?  What  would  he  do  with  such  a  young  man 
if  one  came?  Knock  him  in  the  head  and  send  for 
someone  to  come  for  the  remains,  he  thought.  Of 
all  the  mad  ideas 

"I  am  Bettina  Curtis  "  the  plainly  very  timid  girl, 
repeated. 

He  nodded  curtly.     "Glad  to  see  you." 

His  voice  was  a  mere  growl.  He  did  not  more 
than  look  at  her. 

He  hoped  she  didn't  mind  tobacco  smoke — ah,  there 
it  was!  With  a  hired  person  of  the  class  to  which 
she  evidently  belonged — for  her  modest,  quite  well 
made  clothes,  extremely  pretty  face  and  somewhat 
refined  manner  had  made  him  place  her,  instantly, 
outside  the  realm  of  servantdom — one  never  would 

134 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       135 

feel  free  to  do  as  one  felt  most  like  doing.  It  would 
be  a  fine  arrangement  to  pay  a  salary  to  someone 
who  would  act  as  a  restraint  upon  him  in  his  own 
house ! 

Bettina,  after  ne  had  turned  away,  stood  in  an 
attitude  as  near  to  one  of  consternation  and  impending 
flight  as  was  possible  to  her,  nor  was  this  wholly 
histrionic. 

Apparently,  he  was  even  grumpier  than  old  Mur- 
free,  plainly  Barbie's  warnings  were  quite  justified, 
and  she  was  far  away  from  Theodore,  and  wet,  and 
very  tired. 

She  was  not  afraid  of  this  fine  looking,  but  irascible 
old  gentleman,  but  she  was  doubtful  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  effort  she  had  undertaken,  or,  if  not  doubtful 
of  its  wisdom,  at  least  doubtful  of  the  fun  of  it. 
Of  course,  she  knew  that  she  could  handle  this  old 
man  in  time;  the  idea  that  a  little-city  resident — a 
gray-haired  little-city  resident,  at  that — could  per 
sistently  flout  her  was  too  absurd — rather !  But  it 
would  be  tiresome  work.  And  if  his  ideas  and  fortune 
were  as  dowdy  as  this  comfortable  old  house  seemed 
to  her  city  eyes,  whose  conception  of  true  elegance 
had  been  born  of  the  New  York  shop  windows,  hotel 
lobbies,  restaurant  interiors  and  a  few  fine  flats,  into 
which  by  chance  she  had  adventured,  she  rather 
thought  old  Murfree  must  have  been  insane  when  he 
told  her  that  the  man  was  rich. 

Still — hadn't  Murfree  said  there  was  a  son? 

At  any  rate,  if  she  was  to  remain  there,  this  ancient 
party  must  be  taught  to  treat  her  very  differently,' 


136       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

and  she  thought  she  knew  the  way  to  do  that.  She 
had  tried  it  on  her  stepfather,  on  Theodore  and  on 
divers  other  males  of  her  acquaintance  with  success. 
It  had  failed  with  Murfree,  but  with  him  alone,  and 
he  was  very  wise.  Murfree  had  learned  women  on 
the  "other  side,"  in  Paris;  he  had  taken  a  post 
graduate  course  in  New  York  City,  a  course  of  twenty 
years'  duration — and  this  countryman,  of  course,  was 
not  to  be  compared  to  him.  She  believed  the  simplest 
ruse  would  bring  this  man  to  terms — a  ruse  which 
she  had  tried  on  Murfree,  more  than  once,  with  no 
success  whatever.  And  she  rather  felt  like  crying, 
anyway. 

After  a  marked  pause,  devoted  to  reproachful, 
frightened  looks  towards  him,  she  sank  suddenly  upon 
a  chair  close  by  the  stove  (she  really  was  very  chilled) 
and  began  to  sob  convulsively.  They  were  not  imita 
tion  sobs.  There  were  in  her  enough  discomfort  from 
the  cold,  weariness  from  the  long  journey,  nervous 
ness  born  of  the  strangeness  of  these  entirely  un 
congenial  and,  to  her  bizarre  surroundings,  to  make 
her  sobs  quite  genuine. 

Hoffman,  dumfounded  at  first,  looked  at  her  with 
annoyance  and  then  yielded  to  that  combination  of 
disgust  and  distress  which  every  man  must  feel  when 
a  pretty  woman  starts  to  weep  when  he  is  by. 

"What's  the  matter,  Miss?"  His  tone  was  not  un 
kindly. 

Her  answer  came  reluctantly  through  choking  sobs. 
It  was  almost  inarticulate.  "I  feel — so  miserable!" 
she  gasped  jerkily. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       137 

"What's  that?"  said  he. 

"I — feel  so— miserable !"  The  girl's  sobs  re 
doubled. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Here  was  a  weapon 
Anna  never  once  had  used  against  him. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Anna  never  had  used  any 
weapon  against  him.  Since  the  habit  of  his  churlish 
ness  had  fastened  itself  on  him,  she  had  met  it  with 
a  growing  calm,  amounting,  in  the  end,  not  to  in 
difference,  precisely,  but  to  that  tolerance  with  which 
a  cripple,  for  example,  bears  his  lameness — as  some 
thing  so  inevitable  that  discussion  of  it,  battling  against 
it,  would  be  futile.  She  had  not  shed  a  tear — so  far  as 
he  knew. 

He  would  have  gasped  in  wonder  had  he  suddenly 
been  made  cognizant  of  the  sleepless  nights  which 
she  had  spent  because  of  his  unkindness  and  indiffer 
ence,  of  the  long  hours  which  she  had  passed  upon 
her  knees,  praying  to  that  God  whom  he  acknowledged, 
but  did  not  really  conceive,  of  the  puzzled,  desperate 
days  of  striving,  ever  with  indifferent  success,  to  meet 
his  wishes  and  so  bring  back  to  their  home  the  old 
Fred,  who  had  vanished  with  such  a  gradual  dis 
appearance  that  the  new  Fred  did  not  know  that  he 
had  a  predecessor  differing  from  himself.  Perhaps 
he  would  have  pitied,  perhaps  he  would  changed. 
Perhaps  ...  but  speculation  is  so  idle  in  regard 
to  these  domestic  metamorphoses. 

He  was  exceedingly  annoyed  and  the  sobbing  maiden 
did  not  answer,  further  than  to  state  her  misery. 
And  her  sobs  had  told  of  that  already. 


ft38       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Are  you  ill?"  he  asked,  and  then,  remembering 
crudely  some  hint  of  woman's  wiles  which  had  come 
to  him  from  the  outside  world,  never  from  his  patient 
wife:  "Are  you  ill,  or  are  you — hurt?" 

He  even  went  to  her  and  paused  quite  close  to  her 
spasmodic  shoulders.  Indefinitely  he  had  meant  to 
show  this  interloper — interloper,  though  she  had  been 
bidden — what  her  true  position  was;  he  had  not 
definitely  meant  to  make  her  weep,  for  he  had  surely 
not  intended  to  make  himself  uncomfortable,  and  this 
tearful  outburst  did,  somehow. 

Between  her  sobs  she  answered,  broken-heartedly : 
"Oh,  sir,  when  one  has  to  leave  home  and  go  among 
strangers — to  earn  a  living — and — and  is  given  not 
one  friendly  word — is  offered  no  warm  hand  of  wel 
come — oh — oh ' ' 

He  was  both  exasperated  and  a  little  terrified.  What 
if  Barbie,  or  his  wife,  or  Harry,  should  come  in  and 
find  the  poor  girl  weeping  into  her  wadded  handker 
chief,  as  the  result  of  his  first  words ! 

"Well,  well,  you  must  not  give  way  like  this."  He 
did  not  wish  to  seem  a  brute — to  any  stranger. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  what  she  definitely  meant 
to  make  effective  eyes.  "But,  sir,"  she  said  piteously, 
"it  is  all  so  hard ! — so  hard  for  a  poor  girl !" 

Inasmuch  as  he  said  nothing,  she  burst  into  new 
storms  of  tears  and  sobs. 

"Miss,"  he  urged  at  this,  his  tone  betraying  his 
anxiety,  "will  you  please  stop  crying?"  She  made  no 
reply  and  he  went  on,  explanatorily :  "You'll  not  have 
a  bad  time  with  us.  My  wife  is — goodness,  itself, 
and  I — I'm  not  a — cannibal." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       139 

This  was  what  she  had  been  waiting  for,  if  not 
definitely,  then  sub-consciously;  the  first  sign  of 
weakening  upon  the  part  of  this  man  who  must  be 
early  conquered  if  she  hoped  to  carry  out  the  little 
plan  of  action  which  was  outlined  in  her  mind.  Now, 
having  mildly  humbled  him,  she  must  placate  him; 
she  must  enlist  him  on  her  side  to  serve  in  her  behalf, 
should  battles  come  with  others. 

"I  believe  you,  sir,"  she  murmured  gratefully.  Her 
eyes  went  up  to  his  with  a  sudden  and  pathetic  gaze 
which  almost  startled  him. 

He  had  not  previously  noted  what  large  eyes  they 
were.  He  knew  of  no  eyes  like  them  in  all  Belleville. 
Surely  they  were  very  different  from  Anna's.  He 
found  them  curiously  attractive. 

And  they  looked  straight  into  his  own.  Further 
more  they  made  a  careful  note  of  what  they  saw 
when  they  thus  gazed,  for  her  reply  was  augmented 
by  the  quite  unexpected  comment:  "You  have  such 
good  eyes!" 

While  he  stood  nonplussed  by  these  unexpected 
tactics,  she  was  stricken  with  a  sudden  inspiration. 
What  shrewdness  was  it  in  her  woman's  soul  which 
read  his  man's  soul  with  such  accuracy  as  to  discover 
in  it  vanity  of  personal  appearance?  Not  a  resident 
of  Belleville  would  have  endorsed  her  estimate,  made 
thus  upon  the  moment's  spur. 

"But  the  old  gentleman,"  said  she.  "Is  he  hard  to 
get  along  with?" 

At  first  he  was  not  won  by  this  thin  subterfuge. 
At  first  it  angered  him.  Somewhat  worried  by  the 
unexpected  problem  which  had  thrust  itself  upon  him, 


140       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

feeling  the  need  of  some  slight  stimulant,  he  had 
stepped  to  the  sideboard  and  poured  himself  a  glass 
of  claret,  after  she  had  said  his  eyes  were  "good.'* 
Now  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  investigatively.  If 
she  was  making  game  of  him!  .  .  . 

But  Bettina's  tear-dewed  eyes  were  innocent  of 
guile — he  thought.  Big,  lustrous  and  appealing,  they 
gazed  at  him  with  real  query  in  them.  Truly  the 
girl  did  not  conceive  that  he,  himself,  was  the  "old 
gentleman!"  He  set  down  the  glass  of  claret  and 
turned  fully  toward  her,  considering  her  with  new 
approval. 

"  'The  old  gentleman  ?'  "  he  quoted,  wishing  to  make 
certain  he  had  heard  aright. 

"Yes,"  said  she  with  lightning  thought.  "I  have 
been  already  warned  that  no  one  can  do  things  right 
for  him.  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  of  him." 

Now  he  was  thoroughly  aroused.  "And  what 
frightful  stories  have  you  heard  of  the  'old  gentle 
man?'  "  he  asked,  nonplussed  and  suspicious — but  im 
pressed. 

She  hastened  to  administer  some  slightly  soothing 
words.  "Nothing  exactly  frightful,"  she  admitted, 
"only  that  he  is  always  in  such  bad  humor — excitable — 
and  shouting  at  everybody."  She  paused  to  let  this 
take  effect.  "And  I  am  not  accustomed  to  that,"  she 
went  on  briskly,  lying  wonderfully.  "Papa  and 
mamma  have  always  been  so  good  to  me !" 

"Papa,"  lurking,  at  that  moment,  in  a  saloon's  back 
room  in  Jersey  City,  where  he  had  flown,  after  an 
angry  session  with  his  wife  because  this  sweet  girl 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       141 

had  departed  without  consulting  him,  or  arranging 
to  send  back  her  wages  to  him,  would  have  been 
especially  amazed  to  hear  this  from  her  lips.  Even 
"Mamma"  might  have  been  a  little  startled,  although 
their  battles  had  been  less  pronounced.  They  quarreled 
with  each  other,  but  together  stood  firmly  against  the 
balance  of  the  world. 

But  Hoffman  was  impressed.  Had  he  really  been 
so  brutal?  "Come,  come,  Miss,"  he  exclaimed,  almost 
apologetically.  "It  won't  do  to  be  so — so  absurdly 
sensitive.  We  must  take  people  as  we  find  them.  The 
— 'old  gentleman' — may  be  a  little  rough — that  is  his 
nature.  But — why,  he's  not  a  bad  sort  at  heart.  You 
can  take  my  word  for  it." 

"Really?"  said  she,  as  if  much  relieved. 

She  did  not  feel  at  all  like  laughing  in  his  face 
because  she  had  so  easily  fooled  him;  she  was  in 
terested  in  her  art — absorbed  in  the  delicate  bit  of 
acting,  the  fineness  upon  which  she  was  skilfully  en 
gaged. 

"Yes,  really,"  said  he.  "I  know,  for — er — /  am  the 
'old  gentleman !'  " 

She  rose  and  stared  at  him  incredulously,  her  large 
eyes  fully  opened,  wonderingly.  "Oh,  no!"  she  pro 
tested  as  if  the  thing  was  unbelievable. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  he,  convinced  that  she  was  very 
genuine,  and  now  that  he  believed  this,  very  pleased 
that  she  had  not  identified  him  with  the  aged. 

She  stood,  stammering  as  with  astonishment  and 
fright.  Her  manner  said,  as  plain  as  words  could: 
"What  if  he  is  angry  because  I  have  repeated  such 


142      THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

wild  gossip?"  Her  lips  said:  "How  can  that  be? 
,You  are  not  a  bit  old?" 

His  satisfaction  was  increasing.  Plainly  she  was 
most  intelligent.  Perhaps  Anna  had  not  erred  so 
greatly  after  all  in  sending  for  her. 

"Thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  he  said,  now  very 
genially.  "But  I  have  a  son  and  he  is  the — young 
gentleman.  Obviously,  therefore,  I  am  the  old  one." 

"Oh,  how  funny!"  she  exclaimed,  bursting  into 
that  extraordinarily  captivating  laugh  of  hers.  "And 
I  said  such  terrible  things  about  you!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  that,"  he  reassured. 

Now  she  spoke  very  prettily.  "Won't  you  forgive 
me,  please?"  Looking  straight  into  his  eyes  with  a 
petitioning  smile  upon  her  lips  she  stood  a  second  and 
then  advanced  with  hand  outstretched  as  if  to  call 
a  truce  and  cement  friendship. 

He  scarcely  knew  just  what  to  do.  There  was 
about  him  somewhere  the  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
he  was  being  managed,  and  he  hated  that ;  but  in  her 
eyes  there  was  no  trace  of  guile.  After  an  instant's 
hesitation  he  took  the  outstretched  hand — somewhat 
awkwardly  and  foolishly,  but  took  it. 

"I  will,"  said  he,  and  made  a  further  and  a  great 
concession  by  inquiring  graciously :  "But  why  haven't 
you  taken  off  your  hat  and  coat?" 

"Because  nobody  has  asked  me."  Her  voice  was 
full  of  soft  reproach. 

"I'm  really  as  polite  as  a  bear!" 

This,  for  him,  was  an  amazing  venture  toward 
apology,  and,  as  she  removed  her  heavy  coat  and  her 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       148 

large  hat,  he  took  them  from  her.  The  manner  in 
which  he  tossed  them  to  a  chair  revealed  the  fact 
that  he  was  unaccustomed  to  the  performance  of  such 
small  services  for  women. 

She  moved  to  the  stove  with  hands  outstretched. 
The  fire  had  died  down  in  it  and  it  threw  off  little 
heat,  although  the  room  was  comfortably  warm.  He 
noted  this  and  fumed. 

"Barbie  has  forgotten  again  to  look  after  the 
stove!"  he  cried  complainingly,  and  moved  toward  the 
hall  as  if  to  call. 

This,  for  some  reason,  he  did  not  do.  Instead  he 
turned  back  to  the  stove  and  set  to  work.  Was  it 
that  he  did  not  wish  the  entrance  of  old  Barbie  to 
interrupt  this  interview  just  yet?  "I'll  attend  to  it 
myself." 

Her  attention  drawn  to  it  by  his  brief,  effective 
work  about  it,  she  commented  on  it — as  well  she  might, 
for  it  was  one  of  those  rare  articles,  in  the  United 
States,  a  German  stove  of  porcelain.  "What  a 
fascinating  old  stove!" 

"My  father,  when  he  built  this  house,  had  it  built 
as  they  build  them  in  Germany;  he  loved  old  country 
customs." 

As  he  threw  in  wood  and  arranged  drafts,  she 
moved  about  the  room,  and  in  one  corner,  stopped, 
really  attracted  and  astonished.  There  was  fixed  a 
strange,  old  shrine — a  shelf  of  brass,  upholding  a 
sweet  Virgin,  with  her  child,  and  sconces  upon  either 
side.  "How  very  quaint!" 

He   rose   from  his  prostration  at  the   stove  and 


144       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

moved  toward  her.  "Almost  everything  here  is  just 
as  my  parents  left  it.  Sometimes  I've  thought  of 
tearing  the  old  house  down  and  putting  up  a  new  oner 
but  my  wife  likes  it  as  it  is." 

"Mrs.  Hoffman  is  old-fashioned?  That  is,  prefers 
the  old  ideas  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  said,  not  with  complete  approval.  Then, 
wondering  himself  at  his  unusual  graciousness :  "I 
hope  you'll  soon  feel  at  home  with  us." 

She  surely  was  a  most  unusual  young  woman,  and 
a  person  of  good  sense.  She  had  instantly  given  him 
the  feeling  that  she  judged  him  at  his  true  worth,  and 
at  the  same  time  had  impressed  him  with  the  thought 
that  he  had  recently  been  sadly  underestimated,  there 
in  his  own  home. 

"I  hope  so,"  she  replied,  smiling  charmingly  and 
falling  into  one  of  her  best  attitudes.  She  knew  the 
attitudes;  experience  on  the  model's  throne  teaches 
values  in  such  matters. 

He  was  additionally  impressed.  "As  you  stand 
there,"  said  he,  "you  remind  me  of  a  painting." 

"Oh,  yes;  I  know;  I've  often  been  told  that." 
For  a  moment  her  heart  thumped.  Was  he  struggling 
to  remember  some  startling  study  Murfree  had  made 
of  her?  If  he  was,  and  should  identify  her  as  a 
model,  what " 

"Let  me  see,"  said  he,  trying  to  remember. 

She  was  really  rather  nervous.  She  did  not  wish 
him  to  remember.  "And  you,"  said  she,  a  little  hur 
riedly,  aiming  to  distract  his  mind.  "You  have  such 
a  strong  face!"  She  tilted  her  own  countenance,  as 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   U5 

if  examining  him  critically.     "Really  a  classic  head." 

It  was  fulsome,  crude,  but  yet  it  carried.  "You 
flatter  me." 

"Oh,  indeed  you  have!"  Her  insistence  was  em 
phatic,  for  she  saw  that  he  was  not  disgusted,  but  im 
pressed.  It  gave  her  courage  and  her  feet  were  wet. 
She  stamped  one  upon  the  floor.  "If  I  could  only 
take  my  wet  shoes  off " 

He  seemed  concerned  at  once.  "Are  your  shoes 
wet?" 

"Of  course  they  are."  She  smiled  as  if  suggesting 
something  to  him.  If  he  yielded  then  woufld  she  feel 
certain  she  had  wholly  conquered  in  the  battle  with 
which  he  had  greeted  her.  "I  walked  for  nearly  an 
hour  in  all  that  snow.  There  wasn't  a  sleigh,  or  a 
conveyance  of  any  kind  in  sight.  The  ticket  agent 
directed  me  here,  but  I  missed  my  way." 

"We'll  send  for  your  baggage  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning.  But  you  mustn't  keep  those  wet  shoes  on. 
You  might  catch  your  death  of  cold."  He  was  really 
concerned.  When  had  he  worried  over  Anna's 
dampened  feet!  "I'll  get  you  a  pair  of  my  wife's 
slippers."  He  smiled  at  her — Frederick  Hoffman 
actually  smiled  at  this  invader  whom  his  wife  had 
invited  so  absurdly  (as  he  had  declared)  to  share 
their  home.  "Can't  let  you  risk  your  health  on  the 
first  day  you  are  here." 

With  that  he  hurried  into  his  wife's  sewing-room, 
which  opened  from  the  library. 

Barbara,  while  he  was  absent,  brought  a  tray  with 
tea  and  crackers,  which  she  set  down  somewhat  grimly. 


146       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Here's  your  tea,  Miss."  Then,  not  seeing  Hoffman : 
"The  old  gentleman's  not  here?"  She  smiled  wisely. 
"Ah,  I  thought  he  would — skip  out!"  She  looked 
with  slightly  greater  favor  on  the  newcomer.  "Help 
yourself,  Miss.  There's  a  good  fire  in  your  room, 
now,  and  you  can  go  up."  As  an  afterthought  she 
started  toward  the  stove.  "Might  as  well  look  after 
this  one  while  I'm  here." 

"Mr.  Hoffman  attended  to  it,"  Bettina  told  her 
•quietly. 

"Attended  to  it?  The  old  gentleman?"  Barbie  was 
surprised.  "That  never  happened  before,"  she  mur 
mured,  and,  with  shaking  head,  stood  a  moment 
pondering  this  strange  thing. 

At  length,  abandoning  it  as  quite  beyond  her  powers 
of  analysis,  she  urged  Bettina  not  unkindly:  "You'd 
better  drink  your  tea,  Miss,  while  it's  hot,"  and  left 
the  room. 

Now,  alone,  Bettina  looked  after  the  quaint  figure 
with  a  smile  of  high  amusement,  then  took  advantage 
of  her  solitude  for  the  arrangement  of  her  hair  before 
a  mirror,  and,  after  a  careful  search  of  the  room,  its 
entrances  and  windows  with  her  eyes,  to  make  cer 
tain  no  one  saw  her,  took  from  the  little  handbag  at 
her  belt  a  powder  puff,  with  which  she  dabbed  her 
face,  and  then  a  bit  of  chamois,  with  which  she  made 
the  distribution  perfect. 

As  she  was  thus  engaged  the  footsteps  of  the  absent 
Hoffman  sounded  near  the  door  through  which  he 
had  departed,  and  she  hid  the  puff  and  chamois  with 
a  cat-like  swiftness.  When  he  entered  she  was  stand- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       147 

ing,  as  if  lost  in  study,  before  a  large  oil-portrait  of 
him,  painted  in  his  younger  days. 

He  saw  what  so  absorbed  her  and  was  pleased.  He 
had  a  pair  of  Anna's  large  and  comfortable  knit 
slippers  in  his  hand,  but  before  he  called  attention  to 
them,  he  approached  the  girl  and  looked  across  her 
shoulder. 

"That's  how  I  looked  once  on  a  time." 

She  turned  to  him  as  if  surprised  to  find  him  there. 
"Ah,  you  see  I  was  quite  right  about  the  classic 
head !"  She  swung  her  eyes  to  a  companion  portrait* 
"And  this  is  Mrs.  Hoffman?" 

"Yes." 

"A  good  face,"  she  said  a  little  patronizingly. 
"Denotes  an  even  disposition. 

"I'm  not  at  all  that  way,"  she  then  cried  impulsively, 
as  if  by  saying  this  she  might  be  laying  herself  open 
to  harsh  criticism,  but  yielded  to  an  irresistible,  frank 
impulse,  which  forced  full  confession  of  her  most 
heinous  sin.  Her  words  came  rapidly,  vivaciously. 
"I  am  different  every  day — every  hour."  She  seemed 
child-like  and  sincere,  not  too  apologetic,  but  not  self- 
assertive.  "I  just  can't  help  it.  I  was  born  that  way." 

"I  like  that,"  he  said  admiringly.  "Anything  but 
that  everlasting  sameness !" 

She  threw  him  a  quick  glance,  but  he  plainly  did 
not  realize  how  brilliant  was  the  light  which  he  had 
cast  upon  the  situation  existent  in  that  house.  Had 
he  informed  her,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  was! 
feeling  rather  far  from  satisfied  with  the  woman  at 
whose  portrait  she  had  just  been  looking,  he  could  not 


148      THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

have  made  his  meaning  clearer.  Had  he  frankly  de 
clared  himself  open  to  the  influence  of  any  fascina 
tions  she  might  have  to  offer,  he  could  not  have  made 
his  meaning  clearer. 

He  himself  had  not  the  least  idea  that  he  had  re 
vealed  himself  so  generously;  indeed,  he  was  not 
aware  of  the  real  contents  of  those  hidden  mental 
recesses  which  he  had  just  exhibited. 

But  she  saw  all  these  things  and  smiled  in  her 
extraordinary  depths,  her  face  remaining  grave. 
From  that  very  moment  she  was  sure  that  any  clever, 
reasonably  interesting  woman  who  wished  to  divert 
Frederick  Hoffman  from  the  loyalty  which  he  had 
sworn  to  keep  inviolate  might  do  so. 

She  had  no  wish  to.  Of  what  use  was  he  to  her, 
save  as  the  means  to  an  end?  Too  simply  managed 
by  but  fairly  clever  methods  to  be  genuinely  interest 
ing,  bound  to  another  woman  old  enough  to  be  her 
mother,  as  he  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  his 
weak  armor  did  not  tempt  her  javelin.  Where  was 
the  young  man?  She  must  ingratiate  herself  with  the 
old  gentleman,  so  that  her  real  task  might  be  the 
easier,  but  it  lay  with  the  young  man.  She  turned 
from  her  companion  and  looked  up  at  the  portrait  of 
the  youth  who  filled  her  mind,  though  she  had  never 
seen  him. 

Hoffman  followed  her  cleverly  expressioned  eyes. 
His  reasoning  had  not  advanced  as  far  as  hers  had. 
The  thought  that  he  had  been  dissected  mercilessly 
did  not  once  occur  to  him. 

"That's  my  son  Harry,"  he  exclaimed  with  pride. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       149 

He  might  snarl  at  Harry  when  they  were  together; 
he  might  complain  of  him  to  Alston  or  to  the  mother 
of  the  boy,  but  really  he  felt  a  fine  paternal  pride 
in  him. 

She  recognized  this  and  pandered  to  it.  "Isn't  he 
handsome!''  she  exclaimed  enthusiastically.  Then: 
"And  how  much  he  looks  like  you !" 

Flattered,  he  bowed,  pretending  to  accept  the  tribute 
as  a  joke,  really  accepting  it  at  a  high  value,  and 
definitely  impressed  by  her  excellence  of  judgment. 
"That's  very  nice  of  you."  He  crossed  the  room  and 
took  a  photograph  from  the  piano-top. 

"And  that's  your  daughter?"  she  inquired,  all  in 
terest. 

"Yes;  that's  my  daughter  Beatrice." 

"She  doesn't  look  like  Mrs.  Hoffman,  either."  She 
gave  him  a  quick  glance.  "She's  beautiful." 

"You  think  so?"  The  man  was  beaming  with  self- 
satisfaction.  "She's  just  gone  back  to  the  convent. 
But  take  your  shoes  off  and  slip  into  these." 

He  held  out  Anna's  slippers  to  call  her  attention  to 
them,  then  dropped  them  to  the  floor  by  the  piano 
stool.  He  was  not  squire  of  dames  enough  to  hand 
them  to  her,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  warm  glow  with 
which  she  had  surrounded  him. 

She  found  a  seat  and,  rather  obviously  careful  to 
conceal  her  ankles,  began  to  work  at  her  wet  shoes. 
The  notion  flashed  into  her  mind  to  try  her  power 
with  him.  Her  shoes  were  truly  very  wet,  but  she 
had  mastered  them  alone  when  they  had  been  far 
wetter.  Now,  though  fumbling  with  them,  she  pre- 


150       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

tended  to  be  helpless,  and  cast  an  appealing  glance 
or  two  in  his  direction.  Unguessing,  he  had  crossed 
the  room  and  stood  looking  from  the  window  at  the 
still  determined  storm. 

"I  can't  get  them  off,"  she  murmured,  not  too 
loudly,  almost  as  if  she  might  be  talking  to  herself. 

He  did  not  turn  from  contemplation  of  the  whirling 
snow. 

"I  say  I  don't  seem  able  to  get  them  off,"  she 
ventured  further,  and  a  little  louder. 

"I  heard  you — I  heard  you,"  he  commented  with 
a  brief  return  to  his  old  gruff  ness;  but  he  looked 
around,  and,  after  he  had  watched  her  seemingly 
hopeless  struggles  for  a  moment,  made  his  way  to 
her.  "May  I  help  you?"  he  asked  curtly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  bother  you." 

"It's  no  bother,"  he  said  gallantly,  and,  to  his  own 
amazement  and  her  deep  delight,  dropped  to  one  knee 
before  her,  took  one  of  her  feet  in  his  two  hands 
and  started  at  the  task. 

"You've  drawn  the  strings  into  a  hard  knot,"  he 
commented,  fumbling  clumsily.  "But  a  little  patience 
— ah,  there's  one!  Now  the  other." 

She  held  the  other  foot  out  to  him,  and,  after  a 
moment's  worry,  he  released  that  too. 

"Thank  you  so  very  much !"  she  cried. 

He  ignored  her  gratitude,  but  crossed  the  room  and 
placed  the  wet  shoes  on  one  of  the  queer  shelves 
ornamenting  the  outside  of  the  old  stove.  "They'll 
dry  there." 

Bettina,  watching  him  with  satisfaction,  slipped  her 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       151 

dainty  feet  into  the  large,  knitted  slippers.  They  were 
very  large,  indeed,  and  instinctively,  she  shuffled  in 
them,  making  them  appear  even  looser  than  they  really 
were.  Her  rich  laugh  gurgled  out,  and  he  turned  to 
look  at  her,  his  own  face  smiling.  That  laugh  was 
definitely  contagious. 

"Just  see  how  they  fit  me!"  she  exclaimed,  and  held 
out  a  foot. 

He  was  not  blind  to  the  trim  ankle  which  her 
slightly  raised  skirt  showed.  The  slipper  surely  seemed 
tremendous,  caught,  as  she  held  it,  on  the  toe  of  her 
small  foot. 

"They'll  not  pinch  you,"  he  said  genially,  in  a 
way  that  subtly  praised  her  tiny  feet,  and  subtly 
criticized  the  feet  for  which  the  slippers  had  been 
knitted. 

"Hardly!  Regular  life-boats,  aren't  they?"  She 
looked  at  him  archly,  but  trembled  in  her  soul,  wonder 
ing  if  she  might  have  gone  too  far  in  the  implied 
criticism  of  his  wife. 

It  was  a  relief  and  something  of  a  revelation  to 
her — a  revelation  which  sKe  did  not  fail  to  file  away 
in  her  wise,  malicious,  selfish  little  head — when  she 
made  sure  that  she  had  roused  no  emotions  of  resent 
ment  in  him. 

But  she  sobered  as  the  smile  died  from  his  face. 
He  had  caught  it  after  all  and  was  annoyed  by  it. 
Instantly  she  made  a  little  reparation  with:  "But 
they're  so  nice  and  warm!" 

The  diversion  was  successful.  It  distracted  his 
attention.  "I  hope  you  haven't  taken  cold." 


15£       THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

"Oh,  no ;  I'm  feeling  very  comfortable  .  .  .  now. 
You  have  been  so  kind!  And  the  cook  brought  me 
some  tea  while  you  were  out.  May  I  drink  it?" 

"Of  course  you  may."  His  tone  was  quite  aston 
ishingly  fatherly. 

"And  will  you  keep  me  company?"  She  sat  down 
at  the  table. 

"I  will  with  pleasure,"  he  assented,  although  he 
had  not  taken  tea  at  that  time  of  the  day  in  all  his 
long  career.  "Would  it  annoy  you  if  I  took  a  few 
whirls  at  my  pipe?"  He  was  getting  on  so  com 
fortably  with  this  charming  creature  that  he  asked 
this  question  in  experiment. 

She  did  not  answer  him  in  words,  but  instantly 
sprang  from  the  table  with  a  quick  glance  about  the 
room,  spied  the  little  smoker's  table,  hurried  to  it, 
found  his  pipe,  took  the  cover  from  the  tobacco- jar 
and  began  to  fill  the  bowl. 

"Let  me  fix  it  for  you.  Dear  papa  taught  me  just 
how  to  do  it.  You  don't  mind?"  ("Dear  papa"  had 
really  never  smoked  a  pipe. ) 

"Why,  no."  Really  he  was  very  pleased  and 
watched  her  deft  fingers  at  their  work  with  a  broad 
smile.  "You  seem  to  be  expert." 

"I  have  always  done  it  for  papa."  There  was  a 
charming  hint  of  daughterly  devotion  in  the  way  she 
said  this. 

"I  dare  say  he  enjoyed  his  smoke  just  twice  as 
much." 

She  approached  him  prettily  with  the  filled  pipe, 
and  in  one  hand  a  match  ready  for  the  lighting.  "Do 
you  really  think  so?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       153 

What  appealing,  innocent  eyes  the  girl  had,  to  be 
sure! 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"Then  try  this  and  see  if  I  have  spoiled  the  flavor." 

He  took  the  pipe  and  she  held  the  lighted  match 
above  it  while  he  puffed.  "I  think  /  like  it  better, 
too,"  he  said. 

"How  very  nice!  It  is  as  if  we  two  were  smoking 
the  pipe  of  peace  together." 

He  grunted  a  comfortable  assent  between  puffs  and 
she  sat  again,  sipping  her  tea  slowly.  He  smiled. 
"Let  me  ask  you  a  question,  Miss — Miss " 

"Curtis." 

"Thank  you.     Is  your  father  living?" 

Here  was  her  chance  to  be  effective.  "Ah,  no; 
papa  is  dead."  Her  voice  was  low  and  sad.  After 
having  claimed  performance  of  such  various  services 
to  him  she  scarcely  could  acknowledge  that  his  death 
had  happened  when  she  was  a  two-year  infant.  She 
determined  that  she  would  not  mention  her  step 
father. 

"Then  it  was  that  we  discovered  that  he  had  lost 
everything,"  she  went  on  pathetically.  "Something 
had  to  be  done.  My  brother  Arthur  is  at  school." 
She  did  not  explain  that  the  school  which  he  had 
chosen  was  the  racing  stable  and  the  betting-ring  on 
southern  tracks.  "My  sister  is  too  young  to  help, 
and  so  I've — had  to " 

That  she  had  had  to  make  the  bitter  sacrifice  of 
consenting  to  assist  his  wife  was  cleverly  implied,  but 
was  not  stated. 

"It  is  brave  of  you — very  brave.    I'm  sure  you  will 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

make  your  way  in  the  world.  You're  bright,  have 
nice  manners  and  a  pretty  face,  and  if  you  but  have 
courage " 

"Yes,"  she  admitted,  her  voice  full  of  pathos. 
"That  is  what  I  need — courage.  With  the  new  year 
I  intend  to  begin  a  new  life — I  shall  try  really  to  be 
brave;  I  shall  try  to  never  murmur  at  a  sacrifice;  I 
shall — oh,  Mr.  Hoffman,  won't  you  drink  with  me  to 
the  new  life  in  the  new  year?"  She  raised  her  tea 
cup  and  stood. 

"Certainly  I  will."  He  also  rose  and  held  his  glass 
of  claret  up.  They  clinked  the  glass  against  the  tea 
cup. 

"To  the  new  life!"  she  exclaimed  earnestly. 

"To  the  new  year!"  said  he. 

She  laughed  again — that  maddening,  fascinating 
laugh. 

"Eh?"  said  he  inquiringly,  much  entertained. 

"How  funny — tea  and  wine!" 

As  they  were  laughing  at  the  humor  of  this  unusual 
combination,  Harry  entered,  saw  them  as  they  were 
engrossed  in  their  own  matters,  withdrew,  amazed 
and  puzzled,  and  then  reapproached  and  knocked. 

He  had  never  seen  his  father  in  such  spirits.  Who 
was  the  young  woman?  She  could  not  be  the  person 
whom  his  mother  was  expecting.  Surely  his  staid 
father 

"Come  in,"  called  Hoffman. 

The  boy  entered  almost  shyly.  "Father — oh,  I  beg 
your  pardon!  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  visitor." 

Hoffman    presented    him.      "My    son — the — er — 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       155 

young  gentleman."  He  smiled.  "Harry,  this  is  Miss1 
Bettina — er — er " 

"Curtis,"  she  relieved  him. 

"Whom  your  mother  has  engaged  as  an  assistant  to 
the  lady  of  the  house." 

Harry's  lips  were  smiling  and  his  eyes  examined 
her  with  pleasure.  He  acknowledged  the  introduction 
and  stood  smiling  at  the  newcomer. 

"But  you  must  not  neglect  the  master  of  the  house," 
said  Hoffman  playfully  to  her.  "Little  delicate  at 
tentions  like  filling  his  pipe " 

Bettina  caught  his  eye  and  laughed  and  he  laughed 
with  her. 

"Father,  you're  in  a  splendid  humor,"  said  Harry 
in  surprise. 

Hoffman  looked  at  him  rather  sharply.  "Yes— er — 
Valentine  brought  up  some  very — er— er  cheerful 
statements." 

Then,  seeing  how  earnest  Harry's  regard  of  the 
newcomer  was,  and  wondering,  possibly,  if  his  youth 
might  so  attract  her  that  his  elders  would  be  likely 
to  have  small  attention:  "By  the  way,  son,  your 
mother  tells  me  that  you  want  to  run  down  to  New 
York  for  a  few  weeks." 

He  did  not  know  just  why  he  said  this — whether 
it  was  because  he  wished  to  make  Bettina  think  him 
generous  and  kind,  or  whether  he  was  finding  her  so 
fine  a  playfellow  that  he  did  not  wish  to  share  her,  for 
the  present,  even  with  his  son. 

Harry  stood  nonplussed. 

"I've  decided  that  you  ought  to  have  the  chance," 


156       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

said  Hoffman.  "Go  ahead.  Enjoy  yourself."  He 
spoke  with  hearty  generosity. 

But  Harry  had  no  mind  to  leave  at  just  the  moment 
when  this  radiant  being  had  appeared  upon  the 
horizon.  He  drew  nearer  to  the  table.  "Oh,  never 
mind,  father.  I'd  just  as  soon  stay  here,"  he  coun 
tered  with  a  hint  of  magnanimity  on  his  own  part, 
"and — er — buckle  down  to  business.  Life — er — in 
the  country  is  not  so  bad,  even  in  the  winter." 

"I  don't  want  to  have  you  think  me  a  tyrant," 
Hoffman  urged.  "Take  a  little  vacation.  We  can 
afford  it."  Surely  he  did  not  wish  to  have  this  charm 
ing  girl  think  him  a  stingy  person. 

Harry  was  put  to  it  for  a  weapon  against  this. 

"I  really  have  gotten  so  I  don't  care  much  for  the 
noise  and  rush  of  city  life,"  he  said,  abjuring  gaiety  as 
might  a  monk. 

His  father  gave  him  a  long  look  of  vast  surprise, 
not  wholly  without  irony. 

"I  find  it  so — er — restful  here,"  said  Harry. 

"Well,  just  as  you  like,  my  boy."  Hoffman's  tone 
was  really  reluctant;  then,  still  more  hesitantly: 
"Won't  you  sit  down  with  us?" 

To  his  distress  Bettina  made  a  place  for  the  pleased 
youth  beside  her,  and  the  boy  leaned  toward  her 
eagerly,  with  interested,  even  fascinated  eyes.  Hoff 
man  saw  with  indignation  and  surprise  that  the 
youngster  had  a  very  pretty  way  with  him. 

"You're  from  New  York,  Miss  Curtis?" 

"Yes." 

"Won't  you  feel  lonesome  here?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       157 

She  gave  a  quick  glance  at  his  father  first,  and 
then  at  him,  followed  by  a  gesture  of  content.  "I— 
think  not.  I'm  beginning  to  look  forward  with  real 
pleasure  to  my  new  duties." 

"There's  always  a  lot  to  do  here,"  said  Hoffman — 
the  same  man  who  had  pooh-poohed  his  wife's  com 
plaint  that  she  found  her  strength  overtaxed.  "I  hope 
it  won't  prove  too  much  for  you." 

"Oh,  no;  I  can  do  a  whole  lot — if  I  want  to." 

"You'll  have  to.  But  I  think  life  in  the  country 
will  do  you  good." 

"In  the  spring,"  said  Harry  with  enthusiasm,  "in 
the  spring  and  summer  you  will  love  it  here." 

"Indeed  you  will,"  endorsed  his  father. 

"Everything  in  full  bloom,"  the  son  went  on 
ecstatically.  "And " 

The  dazzled  males  were  leaning  forward  on  the 
table,  vying  with  each  other  in  their  efforts  to  assure 
Bettina  that  the  Belleville  life  would  not  be  dull  when 
Barbara  came  in.  Catching  sight  of  this  extraordinary 
spectacle,  she  paused  in  the  doorway,  thoroughly 
astonished.  Recovering  control  she  ventured,  "Miss, 
your  room  is  ready  for  you,"  and  then  stood,  again 
absorbed  in  wonder,  gazing. 

Hoffman  glanced  up  crossly.  "What's  the  matter 
now?"  he  asked. 

Barbie  drew  back  and  threw  up  her  hands,  fright 
ened  as  she  always  was,  by  that  particular  phase  of 
his  demeanor,  offended,  upon  the  defensive.  "Good 
ness  gracious!  I  only  wanted  to  tell  the  young  lady 
that  her  room  is  warm  now " 


158       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bettina  very  sweetly,  and  pointed 
to  her  hat  and  coat  as  might  one  born  to  command. 
"Take  my  hat  and  coat  upstairs,  please." 

This  shocked  Barbara.  Was  this  young  woman  to 
be  chummy  with  the  master  and  the  scion  of  the  house, 
to  give  her  casual  orders  as  easily  as  Mrs.  Hoffman 
could,  to  step  into  a  position  of  command,  when,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  a  servant  as  she  was  herself  ? 
In  a  pettish  rage  she  went  to  the  big  chair  into  which 
Hoffman  had  tossed  the  garments  when  he  had  re 
lieved  their  owner  of  them  and  yanked  the  coat  from 
it  with  such  brisk  violence  of  wrath  that  the  hat 
and  gloves  fell  to  the  floor. 

HoJffman,  watching  her,  was  infuriated.  He  struck 
the  table  with  his  fist.  "Can't  you  be  careful?"  he 
demanded. 

Her  offense  increased.  "My,  my!  Can't  a  body 

drop  something  once  in  a  while  without "  Her 

grumbling  trailed  off  down  the  hall. 

Bettina  watched  this  episode  with  interest,  but  made 
no  comment  on  it.  When  it  ended  she  took  up  the 
conversation  where  it  had  been  dropped.  She  was 
thoroughly  enjoying  Belleville  as  she  found  it. 

"When  I  arrived  here  my  heart  was  very  heavy,  but 
not  now — no ! — I  feel  I  am  with  really  good  people." 

"You  are  very  welcome,"  Hoffman  cordially  assured 
her. 

"Most  welcome,"  Harry  echoed,  and  had  a  dis 
approving  look  from  Hoffman  as  reward. 

Bettina  turned  her  eyes  toward  Hoffman  and  then 
again  toward  Harry  very  sparklingly,  most  gratefully, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       159 

delightfully.  "You  shall  not  regret  having  taken  me 
in,"  she  fervently  assured  them  both,  "for  I  am  young 
and  strong  and  have  a  happy  disposition."  Filled 
with  the  joy  of  this  adventure  and  now  wholly  un 
afraid,  she  raised  her  sweet,  young  voice  and  thrilled : 

"  'My  heart  is  young,  my  spirits  gay.' ' 

Filled  with  a  fresh  delight  at  this  new  detail  of 
the  girl's  accomplishments,  Hoffman  gazed  at  her  with 
pleased  surprise.  "What  a  pretty  voice  you  have !" 

Bettina  looked  down  as  if  affrighted  by  the  impulse 
which  had  led  her  into  taking  such  a  liberty. 

"You  must  sing  for  us  often,  won't  you?" 

"If  I'm  permitted,"  she  said  modestly. 

"Why  not?"  said  Hoffman,  and  waved  his  hand 
toward  the  piano.  "There's  the  piano.  No  one  will 
touch  it  if  you  don't,  till  Beatrice  comes  home 
again." 

With  a  renewal  of  that  instinctive  tendency  to  fling 
at  the  absent  mistress  of  the  mansion,  Bettina  said, 
as  if  surprised:  "Mrs.  Hoffman  is  not  musical?"  In 
her  voice  was  veiled  astonishment  at  women  who  were 
not  musical. 

"Mother?"  Harry  laughed  at  the  suggestion. 
"No;  she's  not''  His  lip  did  not  curl;  he  loved  his 
mother;  but  he  did  not  wish  to  fail  in  his  apprecia 
tion  of  this  girl  with  music  in  her  soul,  simply  be 
cause  he  fancied  that  it  was  not  in  his  mother's  soul. 

"I  should  think  not!"  Hoffman  emphasized  and  in 
his  tone  was  no  such  reservation. 

"Oh,  I  just  love  music!"  Bettina's  voice  was  full 
of  young  extravagance.  "I  think  a  home  without  it  is 


160       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

certain  to  be  cold  and  dismal.  I  brought  such  pretty 
songs  with  me — and  some  duets,  a  number  of  them 
composed  by  Mr.  Theodore  Sevigny,  a  dear  friend  of 
ours."  A  thrill  of  loyalty  to  Theodore  was  apparent 
for  an  instant  in  her  heart.  "He  is  such  a  wonderful 
musician !" 

"You  must  let  us  hear  them  all,"  said  Hoffman, 
angry  for  a  moment,  that  his  musical  accomplish 
ments  had  been  neglected  since  the  glee-club  days  of 
college.  For  some  reason  his  wrath  indefinitely 
burned  against  his  wife  for  this,  too.  Why  had  she 
not  been,  in  her  young  days,  as  this  girl  was — full 
of  life,  and  song,  and 

The  maiden  full  of  life  and  song  interrupted  his 
reflections.  "Indeed  I  will,"  said  she,  "and  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  when  we  all  sit  around  the  table, 
we'll  sing  together!  Shall  we?"  The  prospect  so 
delighted  her  that  that  fruity  laugh  trilled  out  to 
charm  again  the  father  and  the  son. 

And  now  an  inspiration  smote  her.  "Oh,"  said 
she,  springing  from  her  seat,  "I  know  such  a  delight 
ful  humming-chorus!"  She  took  a  step  toward  the 
piano.  "I'll  sing  the  little  song  and  you  have  nothing 
to  do  except  to  hum.  Shall  I?  I  suppose  you  can 
hum,  can't  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Harry  brazenly,  "father  certainly  can 
make  things  hum,  at  any  rate,  if  he  puts  his  mind 
on  it." 

Bettina  ran  to  the  piano  and  they  followed,  eagerly, 
falling  to  the  places  which  her  waving  hand  allotted 
to  them. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       161 

"Now,  then,  attention !"  she  exclaimed  as  she  softly 
touched  the  keys. 

Lightly,  gracefully,  her  fingers  ran  along  the 
ivories,  outlining  the  air,  and  as  they  cleverly  per 
formed  her  pleasant  voice  intoned: 

"'There  once  was  a  grouchy  bumble-bee — 
"  'Hum-um-um-m.' " 

They  listened  with  delight. 

"Now  you,  Mr.  Hoffman." 

But  for  the  moment  this  was  quite  too  much  for 
Mr.  Hoffman.  Harry,  however,  who  had  fully  entered 
into  the  youthful  spirit  of  the  thing  went  to  him 
and  urged  him.  Finally  the  old  man  gathered  up 
his  courage,  emitting: 

"  'Hum-um-um.' " 

As  he  did  so,  Harry  and  Bettina  joined  him,  making 
of  the  vocalization  a  fine  chord. 

In  delight  she  sang  the  next  line: 

"  'A  cunning  old  bee,  indeed,  was  he.' " 

The  chorus  came  now  without  hesitation: 


"  'Hum-um-um.' " 

"  'The  bee  was  looking  for  a  treat, 
"  'And  stolen  honey  tastes  so  sweet !' " 
"  'Hum-um-um.' " 


162       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

The  chorus  joined  in  promptly  and  successfully,  and 
Harry  and  his  father  both  threw  back  their  heads 
and  laughed  with  glee  as  it  was  finished — threw  back 
their  heads  and  laughed  exactly  at  the  moment  when 
Anna  Hoffman  came  into  the  room. 

"Oh,  mother!"  Harry  chortled  joyfully. 

Her  husband  was  embarrassed.  He  felt  that  he 
had  been  made  a  fool  of,  and,  curiously,  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  that  it  had  been  Bettina  who  had  done 
this  vicious  act;  it  seemed  to  him  that  Anna  had 
accomplished  it  by  coming  in  where  she  was  not  ex 
pected — and  not  wanted. 

"Miss  Curtis  has — arrived,"  he  said  inanely. 

"So  Barbie  told  me,"  Anna  remarked  calmly.  Then 
to  Bettina  with  impersonal  courtesy :  "I  am  glad  you 
have  come,  Miss  Curtis." 

Bettina  really  was  much  embarrassed,  and  not  a  lit 
tle  frightened.  She  was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  she 
had  led  these  innocents  astray;  she  was  more  aware 
than  Anna  was  that  she  was  an  intruder,  poaching  on 
preserves  in  which  she  had  no  right.  She  jumped  up, 
nervously,  advanced  and  courtesied  politely — cour- 
tesied,  to  her  disgust,  in  such  a  way  that  Anna's  house 
shoes  obtrusively  appeared  beneath  her  walking  skirt. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  carefully. 

"I  see  you've  made  yourself  at  home,"  said  Anna, 
and  Bettina  wondered  if  the  words  presaged  an  out 
break  ;  but  they  did  not,  for  they  were  followed  by  a 
reassuring:  "That  was  right." 

Even  Bettina  Curtis  was  abashed  by  what  she  felt 
to  be  the  other  woman's  generosity.  It  was  not  gen- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       163 

erosity.  It  was  only  dignified  acceptance  of  a  situa 
tion  which  Anna,  to  her  great  dismay,  felt,  in  her 
heart,  had  risen  out  of  thin  air  to  confront  her  with  a 
troublous  problem. 

"I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,"  said  Bettina,  "I " 

Anna  interrupted  her,  calm,  unaffected,  unim 
pressed.  "Your  room  is  ready  for  you.  Take  a  little 
rest.  Then,  at  dinner,  we  can  talk  everything  over." 

"As  you  wish,  madam,"  Bettina  said  submissively, 
and  started  toward  the  hallway,  shuffling,  as  she 
walked,  in  the  loose  bedroom  slippers. 

At  that  moment  Anna  caught  sight  of  the  shoes, 
drying  on  the  shelf  of  the  old  stove.  "Miss  Curtis,'* 
she  suggested,  "don't  forget  your  shoes." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Bettina  humbly, 
starting  for  them. 

But  the  exuberant  Harry  would  have  none  of  this. 
While  both  Hoffman  and  Bettina,  possibly  because  of 
somewhat  guilty  consciences,  had  been  crushed  into  a 
solemn,  deferential  silence,  by  the  entrance  of  the  mis 
tress  of  the  mansion,  he,  innocent  in  youth,  which  sees 
no  harm,  but  only  natural  instinct,  in  enjoying  pretty 
girls,  strode  gaily  toward  the  shoes. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  he  gaily  urged.  "I'll 
carry  them  for  you,  if  you  don't  mind." 

Bettina  vanished  through  the  door  which  led  into 
the  hall,  a  picture  of  subdued,  respectful  girlishness. 
Harry  followed  with  the  two  shoes  swinging  violently 
at  the  ends  of  stiff,  triumphant  arms,  which  swept 
wide  circles.  He  cast  a  glance  of  merriment  at  his 
mother  as  he  vanished. 


164       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

She  looked  after  him  and  shook  her  head,  a  very 
noticeable  little  frown  between  her  eyebrows. 

"We  shall  have  to  keep  our  eyes  on  Harry,"  she 
said  gravely,  and  then,  with  no  further  comment  on 
the  recent  startling  happenings:  "I  hear  Mr.  Alston 
called." 

"Yes,"  said  Hoffman,  "to  wish  us  a  happy  new 
year."  Now  he  recovered  slightly.  Certainly  there 
was  in  prospect  more  amusement  than  he  had  ex 
pected.  "Let  us  hope  that  it  will  be  a  happy  new 
year." 

"God  grant  it!"  Anna  answered  fervently,  but  with 
a  grave  and  unexpectant  face. 


CHAPTER  VII 

January  wore  away,  and  February.  March  came 
and  went,  in  an  unusually  mild  week,  taking  with  it 
the  snow  which  had  lain  almost  continually  deep  since 
the  great  storm  which  had  delayed  Alston's  journey 
homeward  from  New  York — that  journey  which  had 
had  momentous  consequences  in  the  coming  of  Bet- 
tina  Curtis  to  the  Hoffman  homestead. 

In  the  red-brick  house  life  became  more  compli 
cated.  Youth  drew  to  youth,  inevitably,  and  Harry 
and  Bettina  smiled  much,  if  secretly,  into  each  other's 
eyes. 

In  this  surreptitious  courtship  Bettina  felt  small 
sense  that  she  was  really  disloyal  to  her  Theodore,  to 
whom  she  sent  long  letters  by  almost  every  mail,  and 
from  whom  she  had  elaborate  replies,  impassioned, 
yearning,  even  through  their  egotism,  inclosed  in  en 
velopes  which  she  addressed  and  sent  to  him,  so  that 
his  epistles  would  come  directed  in  a  woman's  hand. 
She  told  the  Hoffmans  they  were  from  her  mother, 
and  their  frequency  and  bulk  gave  Mrs.  Curtis  a 
reputation  in  the  household  for  devotion  to  her  daugh 
ter  which  would  have  much  surprised  her. 

The  singing  lessons  prospered,  all  but  Anna  joining 
in  them, 'save,  of  course,  poor  Barbara,  whose  nose, 
these  days,  was  wholly  out  of  joint.  She  was  frankly 

165 


166       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

jealous  of  the  girl.  One  day  when  she  was  bitterly 
discussing  her  with  Anna,  who,  for  two  or  three  weeks 
had  been  ill,  and  now  was  just  recovering,  she  desig 
nated  her,  in  a  linguistic  triumph,  a  "young  enter- 
loper." 

Anna  smiled.  She  did  not  like  the  girl,  but  she 
was  of  some  help  to  her,  and  this  year  she  had  sadly 
needed  help. 

"You  mean  interloper,  Barbara,"  she  corrected. 

"Maybe  I  do,"  said  Barbara,  "but,  anyway,  I  mean 
her — that — g  i  r  1  !"  She  spread  this  word  out  in  a 
way  that  meant  supreme  contempt.  "What  does  your 
'interloper'  mean,  now,  Mrs.  Hoffman?" 

"One  who  intrudes." 

"What  Mr.  Harry  calls  a  'butter-in'?" 

Anna  laughed — not  very  heartily.    "About  that." 

"Then  that  ain't  what  I  mean,  at  all.  'Enter-loper' 
is  my  word.  I  mean  a  woman  that  first  enters  a  good, 
God-fearing  home  like  ours,  with  a  nice  young  man  in 
it,  and  then  elopes  with  the  young  man.  Enter-loper 
• — clear  as  day !  Maybe  there  had  ought  to  be  another 
V  in  it.  Enter-^-loper — that  might  tell  it  better. 
But  'inter'  means  insides — the  doctor  told  me  so  one 
time  when  he  said  it  was  a  better  word  than  that  to 
use.  He  seemed  to  be  quite  jolly.  Was  he  laughing 
at  me,  Mrs.  Hoffman?" 

"Maybe,  Barbara;  the  doctor's  always  very  jolly." 
But  she  had  no  heart  to  be  amused  in  these  days,  even 
by  Barbie's  most  extraordinary  vagaries,  and  turned 
wearily  to  gaze  out  of  the  window.  "I'm  not  feeling 
very  well  to-day." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       167 

"Ain't  you,  Mrs.  Hoffman?  I  was  particularly 
hoping  you  were  better." 

"Why  particularly?" 

"Nothing,  long's  you  ain't.  Some  day  when 
you  are — then  I'm  going  to  have  some  things  to 
say." 

"Say  them  now,  Barbie." 

"No;  they'd  make  you  worse." 

Anna  laughed.  "You  old  croaker!  If  I  didn't 
know  that  what  you'll  have  to  say  amounts  to  noth 
ing,  what  you've  already  said  would  worry  me  to 
death." 

"I  don't  see  why.  I  haven't  even  mentioned  Mr. 
Harry's  name,  and  I  ain't  going  to."  Barbie  set  her 
lips  in  a  firm  line,  as  if  determined  at  all  hazards  to 
stand  by  this  decision. 

Again  Anna  laughed.  "How  mysterious  you  are! 
Then  it's  something  about  Harry?" 

"I  didn't  say  it  was  now,  Mrs.  Hoffman.  I  said  I 
wouldn't  mention  him.  Don't  you  get  to  worrying 
about  Mr.  Harry.  Not  that  if  you  were  real  well 
there  mightn't  be  some  things  to  worry  over;  but  as 
long's  you're  sick  you  mustn't." 

"You  absurd  old  thing!  If  I  didn't  know  how  silly 
you  can  be  I  should  be  frightened." 

"Listen,  Mrs.  Hoffman,"  Barbie  urged  mysteriously, 
really  fearful  that  she  might  disturb  her.  "Don't  you 
pay  any  attention  to  a  word  I  say." 

Anna  sank  back  somewhat  wearily,  and,  when  Bet- 
tina  came  to  read  to  her,  listened  with  far  less  atten 
tion  than  she  looked — and  what  she  looked  at  was  the 


168       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

young  girl's  beautiful  but  somewhat  selfish  and  too 
wilful  face. 

Once  or  twice  each  morning  lately  had  come  toward 
her  from  the  slightly  oblique  corners  of  Bettina's  eyes 
a  quick  glance  which  had  filled  her  with  the  thought 
that,  had  she  dared,  the  girl  would  have  subjected  her 
to  scrutiny  as  searching,  but  she  was  not  sure  of  this. 
Those  slanting  glances  might  well  be  the  mere  trick  of 
a  reader,  curious  to  know  if  what  she  read  aloud  was 
interesting  her  listener. 

That  Barbie's  thought  that  her  companion  might  be 
smitten  with  a  fancy  for  the  son  of  Frederick  Hoff 
man,  rich,  very  handsome,  brilliant,  well-bred  and 
well-educated,  might  be  accurate  enough,  seemed  to 
her  most  reasonable.  She  could  not  blame  the  girl 
for  that — any  one  might  fall  in  love  with  Harry ;  but 
that  Harry  could  have  fallen  victim  to  the  charms  of 
one  so  obviously  his  inferior,  in  moral  tone  and  depth 
of  culture,  as  well  as  education,  despite  her  smatter 
ing  of  accomplishments,  was  to  her  incredible. 

She  would  not  believe  it.  Harry  was  too  fine 
grained,  she  argued,  to  be  swayed  by  one  possessing 
merely,  or  even  mainly,  physical  charms,  and  this  was 
true,  she  thought,  of  the  young  woman  Mr.  Alston 
had  found  in  New  York  for  her. 

She  never  for  an  instant  harbored  the  idea  that 
Bettina  was  not  good.  She  might  think  her  undesir 
able  without  believing  that;  and  she  believed  the  girl 
to  be  in  love  with  Harry — for  which  she,  of  all 
women,  found  it  most  difficult  to  blame  her.  Even 
should  she  not  be  definitely  in  love  with  him,  it  would 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   169 

be  hard  to  blame  her  for  feeling  an  ambition  to  secure 
him  as  a  mate,  for  he  was  rich  and  she  was  poor,  and 
life  in  Belleville  (Anna  fondly  thought)  would  surely 
seem  like  harbor  in  a  peaceful  haven  to  any  person 
who,  in  the  heartless  rush  of  New  York  City,  had  en 
dured  the  loss  and  ensuing  misery  of  which  Bettina 
had,  not  very  accurately,  told. 

All  this  reasoning  being  hers,  it  was  naturally  true 
that  Anna  found  Barbie's  worries  not  so  very  start 
ling.  While  she  did  not  give  Bettina  credit  for  the 
highest  motives,  she  did  consider  her  a  person  who 
was  merely  trying,  not  without  excuse,  to  take  the 
best  Fate  offered,  after  a  long  period  of  deprivation, 
possibly  real  misery,  due  to  poverty  and  family  in 
efficiency  ;  but  she  had  faith  in  her  young  son. 

No;  in  Harry,  Anna  found  the  least  cause  of  her 
worries.  The  greatest  cause  her  husband  furnished. 
The  old  Fred  who  had  traveled  with  her  through  so 
many  years  of  married  life,  not  always  peaceful,  but 
never  very  turbulent,  seemed,  in  these  days,  to  have 
vanished.  His  strange  irritability  had  not  decreased, 
but  increased,  and  very  often  made  her  miserable ;  she 
did  not  dream  that  really  he  had  stopped  loving  her, 
for  that  she  would  have  thought  impossible,  but  he 
showed  fewer  evidences  of  affection  than  he  ever  had 
before;  Barbie,  whom  she  loved  as  one  can  only  love 
a  servant  faithful  through  long  years,  was  being 
driven  by  his  tantrums  into  nervousness  which  largely 
nullified  her  competence.  At  particularly  trying  times, 
when  Fred's  temper  flew  at  her  with  an  unusual  viru 
lence  and  lack  of  reason,  she  was  even  glad  that  Bea- 


170       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

trice  was  not  at  home.  More  than  once,  indeed,  she 
had  been  definitely  thankful — so  thankful  that  at  night 
she  mentioned  it  as  cause  of  gratitude  when  she  of 
fered  her  petitions  to  the  Almighty.  How  horribly 
would  she  have  been  humiliated  had  the  modest,  white- 
souled  girl  been  present  at  the  bitter  "scenes"  which 
constantly  became  more  frequent!  She  knew  that 
nervous  strain,  born  of  this  new  development  in  her 
domestic  life,  rather  than  bronchial  tubes  unusually 
susceptible  to  cold,  had  been  principally  responsible 
for  the  curious  breakdown  in  her  health  which  the 
late  winter  had  brought  on. 

She  sometimes  wondered  if  she  took  exactly  the 
right  course  with  Fred.  There  were  many  times  when 
she  imagined  that  had  she  changed  to  meet  his  changes 
she  might  still  have  held  him  close  to  her;  but  there 
lay  the  trouble — she  had  found  a  change  impossible. 
Her  nature  was  quite  fixed ;  even  her  manner  was  un 
alterably  settled  for  the  years  to  come  by  life 
long  habit;  his  had  been  metamorphosed  in  twelve 
months. 

"Repression"  had  been  the  actual,  if  not  the  nomi 
nal,  watchword  of  her  early  training.  She  had  come 
of  outwardly  calm  stock,  unemotional  upon  the  sur 
face,  but,  like  the  traditional  "still  waters,'1*  running 
very  deep.  Fred,  upon  the  other  hand,  had  ever  been 
somewhat  extravagant  in  his  emotional  life — exag 
gerated,  possibly.  He  had  shown  it  in  his  wooing, 
sometimes  shocking  her  with  his  extraordinary  vio 
lence  of  passion ;  he  had  shown  it  in  their  early  mar 
ried  life,  developing  a  jealousy  which,  always  without 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       171 

•reason,  had  sometimes  made  them  both  unhappy. 
For  years  she  never  had  quite  dared  to  even  show  cor 
diality  of  friendship  for  another  man,  fearing  that  by 
doing  so  she  would  make  Fred  his  enemy.  On  one 
occasion  he  had  even  flared  at  Alston,  his  best  friend, 
because  she  had  permitted  him  to  be  her  escort  on  a 
rainy  night,  although  she  felt  quite  sure  that  he  had 
never  guessed  that  Alston  had  once  been  a  suitor  for 
her  hand.  The  episode*  had  almost  wrecked  the  two 
men's  friendship  which  had  begun  at  college. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  his  selfishness  of  possession, 
Hoffman  had  gradually  ceased  to  be  the  lover.  Within 
ten  years  after  they  had  married,  no,  within  five  years, 
he  had  assumed  a  manner  in  his  home  akin  to  that 
which  he  assumed  when  he  went  to  his  office — dicta 
torial  at  all  times,  crabbed  when  he  was  even  slightly 
crossed,  intolerant  of  all  excuses.  Now  this  had 
grown  on  him,  until  he  sometimes  made  her  life  a 
burden. 

She  wondered  if  she  might  not  have  been  wrong, 
when,  in  their  early  married  life,  she  had  too  rigidly 
shut  out  all  interests  beyond  the  practical  necessities 
of  their  advancement  in  the  little  town  of  Belleville. 
He  had  been  a  careful  business  man,  shrewd  as  he  was 
honest,  enterprising  as  he  was  conservative,  mindful 
of  small  details ;  but  he  had  sometimes  wished  to  vary 
the  monotony  of  their  existence — it  had  been  monot 
onous;  she  admitted  that,  and  liked  it — with  adven 
tures,  such  as  journeys  to  New  York,  or  even  a  trip 
abroad  to  the  far  land  of  his  forbears.  These  things 
she  had  discouraged  always,  never  feeling  that  their 


172       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

place  was  quite  secure  enough  to  warrant  ventures 
from  it  into  the  unknown. 

She  knew  now  that  they  might  have  acted  safely  on 
his  impulses.  Events  had  justified  his  conviction  of 
solidity ;  their  lives  might  well  have  been  a  little  more 
eventful,  and  the  lack  of  variation  might  have  had  its 
large  effect  in  making  him  irascible,  intolerant ;  but  she 
had  acted  for  what  she  thought  the  best,  and,  even 
now,  could  not  find  much  to  criticize  in  the  course 
which  she  had  taken.  Besides,  this  great  change  in 
him  had  not  been  gradual ;  it  had  not  spread  through 
the  years;  it  had  come  that  winter.  When  folk  mar 
ried,  she  believed,  the  traditions  of  her  youth  had 
taught  her,  they  must  "settle  down."  If  they  married 
early,  as  had  she  and  Fred,  then  they  must  early 
"settle  down."  Therefore  she  thought  she  had  been 
right.  She  did  not  blame  herself.  Events  bewildered 
rather  than  reproached  her. 

And  Fred  now  was  following  with  Harry  exactly 
the  same  course  which  his  own  father  had  followed 
with  him  in  his  own  youth,  insisting  on  exactly  the 
same  line  of  conduct  which  she  had  urged  on  him  in 
their  young  married  life.  So  Fred  was  inconsistent. 
With  almost  bitter  opposition  he  had  combated  her 
desire  to  leave  Harry  in  the  Law  School,  after  the 
need  had  seemed  to  come  for  his  presence  in  the  fac 
tory,  at  home ;  up  to  that  strange  winter  day  when  he 
had  urged  the  boy  to  follow  what  had  been  his  impulse 
to  go  to  New  York  for  a  week  or  two,  he  had  been 
stern  as  his  own  father  had  been  in  his  insistence  that 
the  lad  do  business,  think  business,  eat  business,  and 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       173 

sleep  business  without  pause,  exactly  as  his  father  had 
insisted  he  should  do.  He  had  found  cause  for  criti 
cism  when  in  him  had  developed  impulses  precisely  like 
those  which,  when  they  had  been  combated  in  him 
self,  had  given  birth  to  most  resentment.  And  now 
he  was  driving  Harry  as  he  himself  in  his  own  youth 
had  been  driven.  He  gave  him  the  constant  criticism 
as  his  own  father  had  given  him. 

There  at  home,  in  the  long  evenings  of  the  winter, 
he  had  often  yielded  strangely  to  the  spirit  of  light 
merriment  which  had  come  into  the  household  with 
the  entrance  of  the  girl,  Bettina ;  to  the  amazement  of 
his  wife  and  plainly  to  his  son's  surprise,  he  had  often 
joined  the  young  folk  in  their  silly  songs  at  the  piano, 
sometimes  driving  her  to  refuge  in  her  room  in  search 
of  peace  and  quiet.  And  this  had  also  marked  a 
startling  change  in  him. 

She  found  there  things  intensely  puzzling,  almost  as 
distressing  as  the  vicious  temper  he  had  begun  con 
stantly  to  show  toward  her. 

It  was  to  Barbie's  nervousness,  born  of  Hoffman's 
constant  criticism  of  her,  that  Anna  charged  what  she 
considered  the  hallucinations  of  the  aged  servant  con 
cerning  danger  that  her  Harry — fine,  manly,  clean- 
minded  and  high-class — high-class !  that  was  it — it  was 
that  which  certainly  would  save  him! — might  fall  in 
love  with  the  girl  from  New  York  City.  She  could, 
she  felt  convinced,  regard  her  worries  as  of  no  sig 
nificance.  They  were  simply  due  to  unfounded  appre 
hension  of  a  general  disaster,  born  of  Hoffman's  al 
tered  attitude  toward  her. 


174.       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Having  come  to  this  comfortable  conclusion  and,  de 
spite  her  instinct  to  get  up,  disregarding  the  deep  lan 
guor  of  her  convalescence,  go  downstairs  to  the  kitchen 
and  undertake  the  detailed  supervision  of  the  house 
hold,  Anna  sank  back  into  her  cushioned  chair  and 
tried  so  hard  to  put  her  worries  from  her  that  the  ef 
fort  brought  her  sleep. 

She  would  have  slept  less  peacefully  had  she  been 
witness  of  the  scene  which,  at  about  that  time,  began 
enactment  on  the  floor  below.  Nine  o'clock  had  come, 
but  Harry  suddenly  dashed  into  the  dim  library,  where 
Barbie  was  at  work  with  broom  and  dust-cloth,  garner 
ing  the  corners,  polishing  the  bric-a-brac — two  duties 
which  she  could  not  trust  to  Ann  Eliza,  who,  since  the 
Christmas  holidays,  had  been  almost  constantly  a 
helper  at  the  house. 

Blinded  by  the  dim  light  he  did  not  see  her  in 
stantly,  and  softly  called — called  in  that  half -secret 
tone  which  she  had  learned  to  hear  with  dread,  for  it 
almost  always  means  some  question  about  Bettina, 
which  he  felt  safe  to  trust  to  her,  but  which  he  seemed 
to  have  a  feeling  would  distress  his  parents  should 
they  know  of  it. 

"Well,"  she  said,  from  her  near  post  in  the  shadow, 
so  suddenly  that  he  was  almost  startled. 

"Isn't  Miss  Bettina  up  yet?" 

"She?"  said  Barbara,  ill  naturedly.    "Not  much." 

The  boy  turned  away  disappointed,  and  as  Barbara 
appeared  in  the  full  glare  of  the  sunlight  which  a  sud 
denly  raised  shade  admitted  to  the  room,  she  thought 
she  caught  a  glimpse  of  something  in  his  hand  which 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       175 

he  had  made  a  hasty  movement  to  conceal  behind  him. 
And  she  knew  what  that  something  was — it  was  noth 
ing  less  than  violets ! 

She  hurried  toward  him,  pleased.  Of  course,  he 
had  discovered  them,  and  brought  them,  first  of  the 
season's  flowers,  to  cheer  his  mother.  Yet  that  was 
rather  curious,  too — Anna  did  not  like  flowers  to 
be  picked.  She  had  her  own  ideas  of  what  ought, 
and  what  ought  not  to  be  done  with  God's  floral  gifts. 
She  looked  on  it  as  waste  to  take  them  from  their 
growing  roots,  where  they  would  thrive  for  many 
days,  and  bind  them  into  bundles,  where  they  would 
last  for  only  hours.  Barbie,  herself,  in  whose  old 
soul  lingered  remnants  of  the  sentiment  of  bygone 
youth,  believed  in  picking  flowers.  Besides,  she  thor 
oughly  approved  of  Mr.  Harry,  and  everything  he  did. 

"What  beautiful  violets!"  she  cried,  her  eyes 
glistening  as  she  saw  their  richness  fully. 

Visibly  embarrassed,  he  whirled  toward  her,  con 
cealing  them  again;  but  in  an  instant,  seeing  the  fu 
tility  of  this,  now  that  once  he  had  revealed  them,  he 
brought  them  forth  somewhat  shamefacedly,  and  held 
them  out  for  her  to  look  at. 

"There's  a  patch  all  blue  with  them,  at  the  edge  of 
the  road  down  by  the  bridge,  just  before  you  reach  the 
factory.  At  the  little  grove,  you  know." 

She  nodded.  "They're  always  early  there.  For 
your  mother?" 

He  had  the  grace  to  blush  a  little.  "Why — er — no. 
She  doesn't  care  for  flowers.  How— er — is  she  this 
morning,  Barbie?"  He  was  sorry  he  had  not  asked 


176       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

this  question  when  he  had  first  come  in.  At  break 
fast  time  his  mother  had  been  sleeping  and  Barbie 
had  not  known  how  she  was  feeling. 

"Better.  Spring's  good  for  her.  But  your  father 
worries  her." 

"He  worries  everybody!  He'll  give  me  a  ragging 
for  not  being  at  the  factory." 

"Well,  why  aren't  you  there,  then  ?" 

"I  came — back  with  these." 

"I'll  put  them  in  water."  She  held  her  hand  out  for 
them. 

He  drew  them  back  and  again  held  them  behind 
him.  "No;  not  now,  Barbie." 

She  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "You're  going  to 
let  them  die  for  want  of  water  ?" 

He  made  no  answer  and  that  made  her  cross. 

"Your  mother  doesn't  like  to  have  flowers  picked, 
anyway.  You  know  that  well  enough." 

"Doesn't  like  to  have  them  picked  ?"  His  voice  was 
full  of  protest.  There  was  much  of  the  child  in  him. 
"That's  what  they're  for." 

Now  Barbie  saw  the  truth  of  this  queer  little  situa 
tion — Harry's  absence  from  the  factory,  when  he 
should  have  been  there,  his  violation  of  what  he  well 
knew  was  his  mother's  prejudice  against  picking  flow 
ers,  his  rush  back  to  the  house  and  his  inquiry  for 
Bettina.  He  had  picked  the  flowers  for  her,  of  course, 
and  brought  them  back  for  her !  It  made  her  angry. 

"Of  course  they'll  go  to  the  young  lady!"  she  said 
huffily.  "Everything  for  her !" 

"Now,  Barbara !"  he  pleaded,  plainly  wishing  her  to 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE      177 

cease  her  comment,  and,  she  knew,  implying  a  petition 
that  she  speak  to  no  one  else  of  the  small  secret  which 
she  had  discovered. 

And,  although  she  had,  within  ten  minutes,  been 
complaining  to  his  mother  about  his  attentions  to  the 
girl,  she  tacitly  agreed  to  keep  this  secret.  She  never 
could  resist  him — her  beloved  Mr.  Harry — when  it 
came  to  definite  things,  even  though  she  might  make 
general  complaints  about  him  and  issue  gloomy 
prophecies  of  what  would  happen  if  things  between 
him  and  Bettina  went  on  as  they  were  going. 

"W  ell!"  she  grunted  with  reluctance,  drawling 
the  word  out. 

But  she  was  not  disposed  to  drop  the  subject  of 
Bettina.  She  disliked  her  with  as  definite  an  emphasis 
as  she  was  capable  of  giving  to  dislike.  She  was  not 
jealous  of  her  youth  and  beauty;  she  was  definitely 
jealous  of  the  fact  that  she  was  given  attention  which 
had  never  fallen  to  her  own  lot  from  the  members  of 
the  family.  Anna  (she  believed)  very  definitely  liked 
to  have  her  read  to  her,  Hoffman  had  developed  an 
extraordinary  tolerance  of  her,  such  as  he  rarely 
showed  to  any  one — he  even  sang  with  her — even 
when  Harry  was  not  by!  He  had  not  sung  before 
since  he  had  first  come  home  from  college ! 

Her  suspicions  of  her  were  acute.  She  could  not 
name  a  single  sin  which  she  was  certain  she  had  done, 
but  she  was  a  sight  too  pretty,  she  was  a  sight  too  ele 
gant  for  one  in  service,  she  was  a  sight  too  friendly 
with  all  of  them  but  Anna.  She  felt  it  a  good  thing 
for  every  one  concerned  that  Beatrice  was  not  at  home 


178       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

to  see  her  "goings  on,"  although  she  scarcely  could 
have  said  of  what  these  most  objectionable  "goings 
on"  consisted.  Indefinitely  she  looked  upon  Bettina 
as  a  sort  of  heathen  from  the  outer  darkness,  a  bar 
barian  come  there  to  invade.  But  her  simple  soul  was 
curious  about  her. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something,  Mr.  Harry." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  'Bettina' — is  that  a  regular  Christian  name?" 

He  looked  at  her,  half  in  surprise,  half  in  a  large 
tolerance  of  her  ignorance,  half  in  annoyance 
that  she  possibly  could  doubt  that  the  young  woman, 
whom  fie  had  begun  to  think  the  world's  most  radi 
ant  creature,  could  bear  any  but  a  "regular  Christian" 
name. 

"Of  course,"  he  answered.  "  'Bettina'  is  only  an 
other  form  of  'Barbara.' ' 

She  was  incredulous.  "For  ' Barbara!'  Is  her  name 
the  same  as  mine  ?" 

He  nodded  emphatically,  convincingly. 

"Then  why  does  she  call  herself  'Bettina'  and  not 
'Barbara'?" 

He  was  nonplussed.  He  did  not  know  how  best  he 
might  explain  this  matter.  He  was  not  certain  of  his 
facts. 

"Well,  you  know,"  he  said  at  length,  after  an  in 
stant's  pause  for  thought,  "not  every  Barbara  is  a 
Bettina."  He  went  to  Barbie  earnestly.  "There's  a 
fine  distinction.  Now  you — you  are  a  Barbara,  while 
she — she  is  a  Bettina."  It  was  clear  enough  to  him. 
"You  understand,  don't  you?" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       179 

She  did  not,  in  the  least,  which  was  excusable.  But 
she  was  not  offended. 

"Not  a  word,"  she  answered.  "I  can't  see  why  she 
should  be  called  'Bettina'  when  her  name  is  'Barbara.' ' 
She  gave  the  problem  up  and  took  the  easiest  way  out 
of  the  involved  train  of  thought,  shaking  her  head  in 
its  dismissal.  "Oh,  it's  just  nonsense.  She  always 
wants  to  have  something  extra."  Then  she  added 
with  decision:  "From  now  on  I'm  going  to  call  her 
just  'Miss  Barbara !' '  She  was  instantly  determined 
upon  this ;  she  would  not  have  her  putting  on  her  airs 
about  her  name.  If  "Barbara"  was  good  enough  for 
her,  then  it  must  be  for  this  young  person  from  New 
York.  Having  reached  this  definite  conclusion  she  left 
Harry  and  went  on  about  her  work. 

He  stood  at  the  window  waiting,  somewhat  nerv 
ously,  occasionally  glancing  behind  him  at  the  great 
Dutch  clock  which,  with  its  wooden  works,  ticked 
away  the  seconds  there  in  the  library,  as  it  had  done 
since  his  first  memory  began,  and  since  the  beginning 
of  his  father's  memory.  He  knew  that  he  should  be 
down  at  the  factory.  He  knew  that  if  his  father  found 
him  elsewhere,  there  would  be  criticism,  not  utterly 
unjust;  but  he  had  run  across  these  violets,  first  of  a 
backward  season,  doubly  precious  because  of  the  hard 
winter  which  had  gone  before  them,  and  he  wished 
Bettina  to  get  them  at  once. 

Bettina!  How  utterly  the  girl  had  captured  his 
young  imagination!  What  delightful,  unexpected 
things  she  did  and  said!  What  tales  she  told  him  of 
New  York!  How  well  she  played!  How  charming 


180       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

were  her  songs ! — so  up  to  date ! — the  very  latest  from 
the  season's  operas  along  Broadway!  How  much  su 
perior  was  she  to  the  giggling,  unaccomplished,  too 
shy  girls  of  Belleville! 

At  this  stage  of  his  infatuation  even  Dorothy 
Mason,  daughter  of  the  best  family  in  town,  and  niece 
of  Senator  Stevenson,  to  whom  he  had  been  very  much 
devoted  during  his  last  vacation,  sank  into  the  class 
of  commonplace.  Of  course,  she  was  a  lovely  girl, 
well  bred,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  had  been 
educated  at  the  best  of  schools — but  she  did  not  know 
life. 

She  was  not  worldly  wise,  as  was  Bettina;  she  had 
never  had  experience  with  jolly  suppers,  at  which  all 
the  guests  were  the  celebrities  of  art,  or  music,  or  the 
drama,  like  those  of  which  Bettina  sometimes  told  him, 
under  pledge  of  secrecy — suppers  at  the  restaurants  of 
Broadway,  where  wit  and  wine  flowed  freely,  where 
(as  she  had  hinted  delicately)  some  of  the  stiffest  of 
society's  stupid  conventionalities  were  quite  set  aside. 
Dorothy  and  Bettina?  There  could  not  be  the  slight 
est  comparison  between  them,  he  reflected. 

He  had  thought  the  matter  over  carefully.  He 
must  marry  this  exquisite  creature  or  forever  be  dis 
consolate.  He  presumed  his  father  would  be  furious, 
he  feared  his  mother's  heart  would  be  distressed  al 
most  to  breaking,  he  could  imagine  Beatrice  and  her 
horrified  amazement  that  he  should  choose  any  one  ex 
cept  her  dear  friend  Dorothy.  He  even  had  a  twinge 
of  conscience  as  he  thought  of  Dorothy  herself,  for 
they  had  been  the  best  of  friends.  At  one  time  he  had 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       181 

thought  himself  in  love  with  her.  But  he  did  not 
think  she  cared  for  him.  She  was  so  stiff!  Like  all 
the  Belleville  girls ! 

He  had  few  illusions  about  the  attitude  his  father 
would  be  certain  to  assume  toward  this  enterprise 
which  had  become  the  dearest  of  his  plans.  He  would 
be  furious.  The  governor  was  so  ill-natured,  even 
with  things  at  their  best,  that  when  he  made  an 
nouncement  that  he  meant  not  to  stay  in  Belleville  and 
take  his  place  at  the  old  factory,  but  planned  to  marry 
this  bright  creature  and  fly  with  her  to  New  York 
City,  there  to  live  a  brilliant  life,  full  of  an  endeavor 
of  some  sort  which  should  not  be  at  all  dull,  the  gov 
ernor  would  certainly  fly  into  a  great  passion.  But — 
what  of  it?  He  was  determined  to  be  brave,  to  make 
the  plunge — if  Bettina  would  plunge  with  him.  If  she 
would  not,  then  life  would  be  all  black,  and  blank, 
and  bleak — quite  hopeless ! 

So  utterly  was  he  engrossed  in  these  reflections  that 
he  did  not  hear  his  father  enter.  The  first  warning 
that  he  had  arrived  came  when  his  harsh  voice  rang 
out,  in  answer  to  some  query  made  by  the  soft-toned 
Valentine. 

"I've  got  the  papers  here  in  the  house  safe,"  Harry 
heard  him  say.  "I'll  give  them  to  you  to  take  to  the 
office.  What  time  was  that  appointment?" 

"Ten-thirty,  Mr.  Hoffman." 

Harry  felt  like  shrinking  through  the  window  out 
into  that  sunshine,  which,  throughout  his  reverie  of 
Bettina,  he  had  been  subconsciously  enjoying,  but,  un 
fortunately,  the  day  was  raw,  despite  the  sunshine, 


182       THE   MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

and  Barbie  had  not  raised  the  window.  He  could 
not  shrink  through  it  without  first  making  a  great 
racket  raising  it.  He  did  not  dare  to  look  around. 
Perhaps  his  venture  back  to  bring  the  violets  had  been 
a  little  foolish. 

"I'll  be  there,"  he  heard  his  father  say,  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  going  toward  the  safe  and  opening  it. 

He  could  hear  the  clicking  of  the  combination  and 
the  rustling  of  some  papers  as  he  took  them  out,  the 
slight  jar  of  the  heavy  iron  door  as  it  was  pushed  back 
into  place,  and  more  clicking  as  his  father  closed  the 
combination.  Of  course,  when  he  looked  up,  he  would 
surely  see  him ! 

And  he  did. 

"Harry!"  he  exclaimed  as  this  occurred.  "Why 
aren't  you  at  the  office  ?" 

"Little  late  this  morning,  father,"  said  the  embar 
rassed  boy,  trying  hard  to  head  things  off.  "Some 
things  here  at  the  house  to  look  after."  Now  he  held 
'the  violets  behind  him  very  carefully,  taking  more 
precautions  than  he  had  with  Barbie — taking  desper 
ate  precautions. 

Valentine,  the  superintendent,  was  really  fond  of 
Harry,  and,  before  he  quite  went  through  the  door, 
saw  that  his  young  friend  was  in  for  it.  He  threw 
him  a  significant  glance  of  warning,  and  stood  hesi 
tant. 

Hoffman — spruce  in  a  new  spring  suit ;  he  had  been 
rather  lavish  with  his  tailor  lately,  far  more  so  than 
he  usually  was — stood  scowling  at  the  boy. 

"No  wonder  your  work  at  the  office  is  behind  hand 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       183 

when  you  hang  around  the  house,  here,  half  the  day!" 

Harry  squirmed  uneasily,  and,  through  an  extraor 
dinary  effort,  struck  an  attitude  which  made  it  seem 
quite  natural  that  his  hand  should  be  behind  him.  He 
would  not  have  had  his  father  see  those  violets 
.for 

"It  won't  do,  young  man,"  his  father  thundered. 
"I  won't  tolerate  it." 

"I  do  the  best  I  know  how,"  Harry  answered 
childishly,  and  knowing  that  he  sounded  childish, 
which  added  to  his  woes.  Why  had  he  not  thought 
out  a  definite  errand  when  he  had  taken  chances  this 
way?  He  knew.  The  run  back  with  the  violets  had 
been  as  unconsidered  as  the  return  flight  of  a  mating 
bird.  "I'm  doing  quite  my  best." 

His  father  looked  at  him  unpleasantly.  "If  that's 
the  case,"  he  said,  with  slow  and  scathing  sarcasm, 
"you'd  better  find  out  how  to  do  a  little  better.  I 
didn't  know  that  you  were  stupid." 

Harry  writhed. 

"When  /  was  of  your  age  my  father  worked  me 
like  a  slave." 

"I  know,  father,"  the  boy  urged,  "but  times  have 
changed.  Er — things  are  run  on — on  more  advanced 
principles,  in  these  days." 

"Principles  will  never  advance  far  enough  to  do 
away  with  work,"  said  Hoffman  sternly. 

"Well,  things  are  different,  anyhow."  The  boy 
was  desperate.  "With  machinery — and  education — * 
and  all  that — why,  folks  don't  have  to  grind — grind 
night  and  day — the  way  you  did." 


184       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Hoffman  looked  at  him  severely,  then  his  face,  now 
hard  as  nails,  took  on  an  ironic  twist.  "Oh,  I  didn't 
know  that,"  he  replied,  almost  malevolently.  "Thanks, 
my  boy,  for  those  nuggets  of  wisdom." 

Then  he  suddenly  remembered  that  Valentine  was 
standing  in  the  doorway  and  whirled  rapidly  on  him. 
He  felt  that  Valentine,  in  some  way,  was  in  league 
with  his  unindustrious  son. 

"I  suppose,  Valentine,"  he  said,  "that  what  my  son 
has  said  quite  meets  with  your  approval?" 

Valentine,  who  was  a  person  of  small  force,  com 
petent  enough,  but  certainly  not  inclined  to  be  ag 
gressive  with  the  man  who  hired  and  paid  him,  no 
matter  how  keenly  he  might  sympathize  with  Harry, 
was  at  a  loss.  He  knew  that  he  must  not  too  strongly 
endorse  what  Harry  had  declared,  but  his  sense  of 
loyalty  to  his  young  friend  was  too  great  to  permit 
him  to  go  back  on  him  entirely.  He  knew — none 
better! — that  Hoffman,  in  these  days,  was  prone  to 
be  unreasonable. 

"Well,"  he  stammered,  "to  some  extent — I 

Conditions  have,  you  must  admit,  Mr.  Hoffman " 

Hoffman  was  entirely  disgusted.  "That's  right!" 
he  cried  irascibly.  "Know  as  much  as  you  can — 
know  more  than  your  elders,  both  of  you — young 
gentlemen!"  He  put  strong  emphasis  upon  the  last 
two  words. 

Now  Harry  was  aroused.  He  felt  that  he  was  being 
outraged.  It  was  true  that  he  had  not  gone  to  the 
works  as  early  as  he  might  have,  but  it  was  also 
true — or  he  honestly  believed  it  to  be  true — that  there 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       185 

had  been  no  real  necessity  for  him  to  hurry  to  his 
desk. 

"Father!  That's  not  fair!"  he  cried.  "The  world 
has  need  of  young  men!"  He  was  sure  that  this 
was  very  neat,  entirely  convincing. 

But  his  father  only  looked  at  him  with  arrogant, 
insulting  eyes.  "Oh,"  he  slowly  drawled.  "That's 
another  thing  I  didn't  know.  Certainly.  Young  men 
arc  useful.  It  would  be  impossible  to  engineer  a 
picnic  or  a  dance  without  them.  They  are  therefore 
also  ornamental."  His  tone  was  viciously  ironic. 
"But  they  are  no  novelty,  my  son.  They  have  been 
here  before.  We  need  not  coddle  them  for  fear  there 
may  not,  sometime,  be  others." 

This  roused  Valentine.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he 
worked  with  an  unusual  industry,  taking  little  time 
for  pleasure.  When  Harry  had  gone  off  to  study,  he 
had  deeply  envied  him;  when  he  had  been  brought 
home  to  learn  the  business  before  he  had  finished 
law-school,  he  had  felt  sorry  for  him,  had  felt  that 
the  "old  gentleman"  was  not  quite  fair  with  his  young 
son,  and  surely  Hoffman  must  not  bring  unjust  charges 
against  him  also. 

"Mr.  Hoffman,"  he  said  somewhat  hotly,  "I  never 
have  the  time  for  picnics  or  for  dances.  The  work 
at  the  office " 

But  Hoffman  was  not  in  the  least  impressed.  "Don't 
be  afraid,  Valentine,  that  your  merits  will  not  be 
discovered.  You  need  not  enumerate  them.  I  know 
them  all — and  still  have  room  for  other  knowledge 
in  my  head." 


186       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Harry  was  breathing  hard,  indignantly,  and  far 
more  than  a  little  worried,  as  his  father  turned  on 
Valentine.  It  gave  him  a  second's  breathing  space. 

But  it  was  only  a  second's  lull.  His  father  again 
advanced  on  him,  upon  his  face  the  sour  look  of  a 
man  disgusted.  As  when  he  approached  within  his 
reach  he  raised  his  hand,  the  boy  shrank  back.  Could 
his  father  mean  to  strike  him?  But  the  intention  of 
the  elder  Hoffman  was  less  brutal,  although  more 
insulting.  He  tapped  his  son  upon  the  forehead  with 
a  hard  forefinger — tapped  him  on  the  forehead  as  if 
he  half  expected  that  forehead  to  ring  hollow,  like 
an  empty  cask. 

"And,  Harry,"  he  advised  with  biting  malice,  "don't 
you  feel  too  sorry  for  your  father  because  he  knows 
so  much  less  than  you  do." 

Harry  looked  at  him  half  angry  and  half  hurt. 
Suddenly  his  father  towered  above  him  angrily,  stand 
ing  perfectly  erect,  perhaps  rising  on  his  tiptoes.  He 
was  always  very  tall  when  very  angry. 

"Go  to  your  work!"  he  shouted. 

As  Harry  sullenly  turned  to  go,  his  father  whirled 
on  Valentine  less  fiercely,  but  not  gently.  "And  you, 
Valentine,  waste  no  more  time.  'Phone  Alston  to 
come  over.  I'm  not  going  to  the  mill  this  morning. 
If  he  can  come,  I'd  like  to  see  him  here.  I  want  to 
talk  to  him  about  that  Nelson  matter.  It's  important 
and  annoying  and  I  want  to  fight  them  to  a  finish 
and  have  done  with  it." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  Valentine  replied,  "I'll  tell  him." 

Harry  was  passing  blackly   from  the   room  and 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       187 

Valentine  fell  in  behind  him,  himself  frightened,  hurt 
and  wondering. 

The  change  in  Hoffman  fell  on  him,  perhaps,  more 
heavily  than  on  anyone  but  Anna.  He  was  intensely 
worried.  His  employer  constantly  surprised  him.  A 
definite  metamorphosis  seemed  to  be  in  progress  in 
him.  Not  only  was  he  less  good-natured  in  his  busi 
ness  matters,  but  he  seemed  to  be  becoming  vain.  He 
was  giving  to  his  personal  appearance  twice  the  time 
which  he  had  ever  given  it  before.  This  morning 
he  was  dressed  in  a  new  suit,  out  of  the  vest  of  which 
a  brilliant  necktie  glowed.  Valentine  wondered  if  his 
job  could  be  in  danger.  He  wondered  what  was 
working  in  the  old  man,  anyway. 

Ascending  the  porch-steps,  as  they  went  down,  they 
met  Bettina,  and  as  Valentine  went  on,  Harry,  his 
face  flushed  with  joy  at  seeing  her,  as  it  had  paled 
with  indignation  during  what  he  thought  his  father's 
unjust  criticism,  paused  to  speak  with  her  a  moment, 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  Anna,  who  had  heard 
the  sounds  of  the  loud  voices  from  the  library  and 
knew  that  Harry  had  been  scolded,  had  gone  over 
to  the  window  to  watch  him  as  he  left — to  watch 
him  sympathetically,  wondering  at  his  father's  harsh 
ness. 

She  saw  his  face  light  as  he  talked  with  Bettina. 
She  could  not  see  her  face,  but  knew,  of  course,  that 
she  was  smiling  at  him.  She  could  hear  their  talk 
quite  plainly. 

"Barbie  told  me  you  weren't  up,"  said  Harry. 

"I've  been  up  for  hours!    I  read  to  Mrs.  Hoffman 


188       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

until  pretty  late,  and  overslept  a  little;  that's  why  we 
missed  at  breakfast;  but  I've  been  out  in  the  garden 
a  long  time.  It's  so  lovely — all  this — country!" 

His  face  was  radiant  because  she  was  enjoying  life. 

Anna  noted  this  with  a  queer  stricture  of  the  heart. 
She  saw,  too,  that  Harry  carried  something  held  be 
hind  him. 

s, 

"But  you're  feeling  quite  all  right,  are  you?"  he 
asked  with  real  solicitude. 

Bettina  nodded.  Anna  could  see  her  face  now  and 
she  was  smiling  with  a  brilliance  which  seemed  some 
thing  of  an  affectation,  but  which  evidently  passed 
current  with  the  youth. 

"Here  you  are,  then!"  He  handed  her  the  violets. 
"The  very  first  of  the  season.  I  found  them  and 
came  back  with  them  for  you.  I've  just  been  ragged 
for  it — although  he  doesn't  know  why  I  came  back." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much !"  Anna  saw  Bettina  take 
the  flowers  and  hold  them  to  her  face  as  if  she  valued 
them  beyond  most  flowers.  There  could  be  no  ques 
tion  that  the  girl  was  flirting.  And  if  Harry  gave 
her  flowers!  Could  it  be  possible  that  Barbie  had 
been  right? 

"Well,  I  must  hurry  on.  The  governor's  in  a 
rage  this  morning  for  some  reason.  I'm  going  to  try 
to  get  away  for  half  an  hour  at  noon.  I'll  be  going 
to  the  bank.  Will  you  meet  me — by  the  bridge? 
I'll  show  you  where  I  found  the  violets." 

She  saw  Bettina  nod,  again  smiling  brilliantly. 
And  as  Harry  dashed  away,  pursuing  Valentine,  she 
sank  back  in  her  chair,  amazed  and  sick  at  heart. 
•Barbie  had  been  right — quite  right. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   189 

She  decided  that  she  must  get  downstairs  some 
way  and  talk  this  over  with  her  husband.  Something 
must  be  done  about  it.  She  was  literally  horrified. 
Wearily  she  started  the  laborious  preparations.  She 
had  not  been  fully  dressed  for  a  whole  week. 

While  she  was  preparing  for  the  trip,  a  scene 
progressed  down  in  the  library,  which  would  have 
amazed  and  startled  her  far  more  than  had  the  en 
counter  between  Harry  and  Bettina  on  the  walk. 
Bettina,  strolling,  smiling,  went  into  the  living-room, 
staid  and  quaint  with  its  old  furniture,  its  Dutch  stove 
and  its  quaint  shrine.  There  apparently  to  her  aston 
ishment,  she  found  Hoffman  waiting — the  "old  gen 
tleman"  apparently  as  eager  for  her  company  as  the 
"young  gentleman"  had  been.  He  went  forward  to 
her  blithely,  not  noticing  the  flowers  which  she  carried 
in  her  hand.  From  his  pocket  he  brought  out  a  bunch 
of  violets  and  handed  them  to  her  in  a  manner  which, 
half  brusque,  was  still  half  tender. 

"Here  are  some  violets  for  you.  I  know  you  love 
flowers  so." 

"Oh,  how  beautiful!"  she  cried,  and  looked  up  into 
his  eyes. 

He  smiled,  and  as  he  smiled  caught  sight  of  those 
which  Harry  had  bestowed  upon  her.  His  face 
darkened.  "But  I  see  you  already  have  some." 

She  shrugged  carelessly.  "Oh,  these?  I  just 
picked  them."  She  dropped  them  to  the  table  care 
lessly,  but  held  his  in  her  hand.  "I  shall  wear  yours." 
She  gave  him  a  brilliant  smile,  as  she  thrust  their 
stems  into  her  belt. 

It  wanned  him — it  was  plain,  indeed,  that  it  pleased 


190       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

him  very  much.  "Are  you  quite  rested  ?  I  know  you 
read  to  her  almost  all  night."  In  his  tone  was  definite 
solicitude. 

"Yes,  thank  you;  I'm  quite  rested."  She  never 
failed  to  use  her  eyes  on  him. 

"You  weren't  down  at  breakfast.  It  was  such  a 
stupid  meal!"  He  said  this  with  some  emphasis;  one 
could  not  doubt  its  genuineness. 

She  looked  up  at  him  coquettishly.  "Did  you  miss 
me?" 

"Did  we  miss  you!"  he  said  fervently.  "When  I 
don't  see  you  .  .  .  upon  my  word  I  don't  see 
how  I've  stood  it  all  these  years !" 

She  had  begun  to  smile  another  sort  of  smile  at 
him — a  slow  smile,  full  of  appreciation  of  his  fervent 
words — when  she  heard  a  rustle  from  the  stairs  out 
in  the  hall.  She  gave  him  a  warning  look  and  he 
went  quickly  to  the  window,  through  which  the  sun 
was  streaming  brilliantly.  "Mrs.  Hoffman's  coming," 
she  said  very  softly. 

As  Anna  entered  he  turned,  smilelessly,  to  look  at 
her. 

"I  heard  your  voice,"  said  she  a  little  wearily,  "and 
thought  I  would  come  down." 

He  made  no  response,  but  stood  there,  grim  and 
silent,  in  the  sunlight.  It  caught  her  attention. 

"Please  draw  the  curtains,  Miss  Bettina,"  she  re 
quested.  "The  sun  is  shining  right  upon  the  carpet 
and  that  material  fades  so.  They  should  not  have 
sold  it  to  me." 

Bettina  drew  the  shades  without  a  glance  at  Hoff- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       191 

man,  who  stood  looking  at  his  wife.  How  different 
her  faded,  weary  face  was  from  the  bright,  vivacious 
countenance  of  the  young  woman  she  was  giving 
orders  to!  How  she  had  fallen  off  in  looks!  What 
petty  things  she  gave  her  mind  to ! 

She  caught  his  eyes  full  on  her — rather  hard,  cold 
eyes,  not  at  all  the  kind  of  eyes  a  convalescent  wishes 
to  be  greeted  by;  but  to  this  she  paid  slight  heed. 
'Fred's  eyes  were  never  warm  and  cordial  now,  as 
they  once  had  been. 

"Why  are  you  here  so  late?"  she  asked  without 
much  meaning.  He  often  was  there  late,  these  days. 
She  presumed  he  might  be  waiting  to  see  Alston.  It 
was  easier  for  the  lawyer  to  meet  him  at  the  house 
than  to  go  out  to  the  mills. 

"Valentine  and  Harry  detained  me/'  he  said  curtly. 
"But  I  must  go  now." 

"If  you  can  spare  me  a  few  minutes  I'd  like  to 
talk  over  a  few  things " 

"Well,  what  are  they?    I  haven't  much  time." 

She  glanced  toward  Bettina,  as  if  warning  him  that 
she  must  wait  until  they  were  alone.  Then,  to  Bettina : 
"Miss  Curtis,  please  go  over  to  the  grocery.  Here  is 
a  list  of  things  that  I  shall  want  this  afternoon." 

"I'll  go  at  once,  Mrs.  Hoffman."  The  girl  spoke 
submissively,  as  if  half  frightened  at  having  been 
caught  with  him.  "Is  there  nothing  else?" 

"No;  nothing  else."  Anna  went  to  the  sideboard 
and  fumbled  with  some  napkins  till  the  girl  had  dis 
appeared. 

In  the  meantime  Hoffman  waited  with  impatience. 


192       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

As  she  did  not  speak  at  once,  he  grumbled  discon 
tentedly:  "Well,  I'm  still  here  listening;  what  do 
you  want?" 

She  was  not  hurried.  She  waited  until  Bettina  had 
had  time  to  leave  the  house. 

"What  do  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about?"  he  said 
again. 

"About  Harry,"  she  replied,  turning  to  him  with  a 
look  of  worry.  "Fred,  things  cannot  go  on  this  way." 

He  seemed  to  be  impressed.  "I  told  him  that  a 
moment  ago."  His  voice  raised,  complaining  of  the 
boy.  "That  youngster  has  no  taste  for  business.  He 
has  no  ambition  whatsoever." 

"Yes,  yes,  Fred;  but  that's  not  what  I  mean.  It's 
something  else  that "  She  stopped  short. 

"What  is  it?"  he  said  grumpily.  "What  do  you 
mean?  You  know  how  I  hate  this  beating  around 
the  bush." 

"I  mean — that  girl  must  leave  the  house." 

He  looked  at  her  in  almost  dumb  surprise.  What 
had  Bettina  got  to  do  with  Harry?  He  could  not 
believe  his  ears.  "Which  girl?" 

"Why,  you  know — Bettina." 

"Bettina!"  he  exclaimed  incredulously.  "On  ac 
count  of  Harry  f 

"You  must  have  observed  what  is  going  on  be 
tween  the  two " 

"Between  the  two — between  Harry  and  Bettina? 
Why,  you're  crazy!"  Had  she  brought  some  charge 
against  Bettina  on  his  own  account — why,  he  would 
have  tried  to  bluff  it  down.  But  to  link  Bettina  with 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       193 

his  son — young  jackanapes!  It  was  absurd.  He  be 
gan  to  pace  the  floor  in  nervous  rage.  If  there  was 
anything  between  those  two 

"Fred,  don't  get  so  excited.  How  nervous  you 
are  lately !  Nothing  has  happened  as  yet,  but " 

He  whirled  on  her.  Was  she  insane  or  was  he 
dreaming?  "As  yet?  Then  you  believe  there 
might " 

"Yes;  and  we  must  put  a  stop  to  it,  that's  all. 
Barbie  has  warned  me.  She  has  told  me  more  than 
once :  'Keep  your  eyes  on  the  young  gentleman !' ' 

If  all  this  should  be  true!  It  nonplussed  and  dis 
mayed  him.  "Well,  why  didn't  you,  then?  Why 
didn't  you  keep  your  eyes  on  him?  Why  should  you 
permit " 

"Keep  cool,  Fred/'  she  said  soothingly.  "It's  not 
too  late.  I  heard  them  talking  just  outside  and  he 
gave  her  some  violets." 

He  looked  at  her  rather  stupidly.  "Gave  her  some 
violets?  Harry  did,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  I  heard  them  talking.  And  it's  not  gone 
very  far.  She's  merely  trying  for  him.  She  has  not 
yet  wholly  dazzled  him. 

"Dazzled— Harry?" 

"I  can  put  an  end  to  it.  I'm  going  to  discharge 
her." 

He  rose  in  arms  at  this.  "You're  going  to  dis 
charge — Bettina?"  Even  if  all  she  said  was  true,  if 
Harry  had  given  her  some  violets  and  she  had  over 
heard  them  talking  on  the  porch — what  of  it? 
Bettina  could  not  stop  the  boy  from  giving  violets 


194       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

to  her.  "Is  it  her  fault  that  he  runs  after  her  ?  That 
young  scamp — behind  my  back !" 

Neither  he  nor  Anna  caught  the  hidden  meaning  of 
this  last  earnest  exclamation. 

Suddenly  he  reached  for  his  hat.  "Well,  I'll  go 
down  to  the  factory  and  see  him.  He's  probably  got 
there  by  this  time.  He  spends  no  more  time  there 
than  he's  compelled  to.  I'm  going  to  tell  him  that 
he's  got  to  leave  this  house  if  he  doesn't  let  that  girl 
alone!  He — not  she!  She  is  perfectly  innocent  in 
the  matter;  I'm  convinced  of  that." 

Anna  shook  her  head.  "Well,  I'm  not  so  sure 
of  it."  She  paused  then  in  thought.  She  wanted 
to  be  fair.  She  always  wanted  to  be  fair.  "I  don't 
know  that,  really,  she  can  be  blamed.  She's  a  poor 
girl  and  our  Harry  would  be  a  fine  match  for  her 
jto  make.  It  is  only  natural  that  she  should  try  to 
win  him." 

Hoffman  looked  at  her  with  smoldering  eyes.  His 
wrath  was  fully  roused.  He  would  not  have  his  son 
step  in,  and 

His  thoughts  came  up  with  a  round  turn.  Step  in 
and — what?  He  could  not  answer  that.  What  had 
he,  himself,  been  thinking  of  in  connection  with 
Bettina?  Nor  could  he  answer  that. 

Things  suddenly  had  come  to  a  strange  crisis.  He 
was  bewildered,  and  he  was  very  angry — especially 
at  Harry,  but  in  a  lesser  degree  at  Anna.  For  some 
reason  her  pale  face  and  evidently  weakened  step  did 
not  rouse  his  sympathy,  as  once  such  signs  would 
have.  He  looked  at  her  with  that  distaste  which 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       195 

had  so  often  filled  his  heart  of  late  when  he  observed 
her.  How  pale  she  was — how  weary-looking — and — 
how  old!  She  had  never  taken  any  care  of  her 
own  looks,  as  other  women  did,  he  disapprovingly 
reflected. 

But  principally  his  hot  wrath  rose  at  Harry.  "He'll 
find  that  I  have  something  to  say  about  what  he  is 
doing!"  he  declared.  "If  he  should  do  such  a  foolish 
thing — if  he  should  ever  marry  her — then  let  him 
shift  for  himself!  Not  a  penny  shall  he  ever  get 
from  me!  Not  a  red  penny!  I  want  you  to  tell 
him  that — and  I  will!"  He  jammed  his  hat  upon 
his  head  and  strode  away. 

Anna  looked  after  him  in  weary  disappointment. 
He  had  not  even  tried  to  help  her  out  of  the  perplex 
ing  problem  in  which  she  found  herself  involved. 
He  seemed,  somehow,  to  blame  her.  Well,  perhaps 
it  was  her  fault.  She,  not  he,  had  brought  the  girl 
into  the  house.  He  had  not  wished  to  have  her  send 
for  anyone  to  help  her.  But  why  should  he  have  tried, 
as  he  had  tried,  to  defend  Bettina  against  Harry  ?  Oh, 
she  could  not  comprehend  him  these  days ! 

She  let  her  head  drop  to  her  hand  and  sat  wonder 
ing  why  life,  thus  late  in  their  affairs,  had  suddenly 
become  so  complicated. 

Barbie  came  to  ask  if  she  should  roast  a  breast 
of  veal  which  had  come  up,  or  make  chops  of  it. 

"Do  as  you  think  best,  Barbie." 

This  was  unlike  Mrs.  Hoffman.  Her  orders  al 
ways  were  explicit,  competent  and  detailed.  Barbie 
ventured  toward  her. 


196       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"You  ought  not  to  have  come  down,  Mrs.  Hoffman. 
You  don't  look  well  at  all." 

"I  don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  me.  My 
knees  tremble  and  my  head  aches  so!" 

The  old  servant  was  concerned.  "Let  me  mix 
and  boil  an  old  cure  for  you.  Real  old  country 
cure.  It's  a  sort  of  plaster — but  you  can  swallow 
part  of  it.  It's  the  greatest  thing  for  chills  and 
fever,  Mrs.  Hoffman"  (she  waxed  eager  in  her 
recommendation),  "and  it's  good  for  sprains  and 
burns  and  headache,  lameness  and  the  cholera 
morbus." 

Anna  smiled  up  at  her.  "I'm  not  so  sick  as  that, 
Barbie."  Then  she  confided  in  her.  "My  dear  Barbie, 
I  am  worried  about  Harry." 

Barbie  showed  no  signs  of  surprise.  Instead  she 
wisely  shook  her  head.  Hadn't  she  that  very  morn 
ing  told  her?  "What  did  I  say,  Mrs.  Hoffman? 
Is  that  what  we've  worked  so  hard  for?  Is  it  for 
her  that  we  have  kept  this  house  in  such  fine  order? 
What?  For  that  kind  of  a  daughter-in-law?"  She 
sniffed  scornfully. 

"It  hasn't  come  to  that,  yet." 

But  Barbie  was  by  no  means  sure  that  it  had  not. 
"Is  she  going  to  spread  herself  around  here?  Is  she, 
going  to  handle  all  our  silver  as  if  it  were  her  own. 
Is  she  going  to  ruin  our  fine  linen?  She  don't  know 
a  thing  about  good  linen!  The  things  she  brought 
from  home  were  all  as  yellow — or  else  gray — and  you 
know  what  that  means."  She  burst  into  a  wail.  "Oh, 
what  a  trouble  children  are!  Mercy,  mercy — what  a 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       197 

misfortune!"  She  clasped  her  hands  and  waved 
upon  her  feet,  moaning  her  despair. 

It  shook  Anna's  nerves.  "If  you  can't  talk  sensibly,'* 
she  said,  "I  won't  have  another  word  to  say  to  you." 

"Oh,  dear!    Oh,  dear!"  moaned  Barbie. 

"Stop  that  bawling!"  cried  the  distracted  woman. 

"When  a  person  is  as  wrapped  up  in  a  family  as 
I  have  been  in  this  one — and  to  live  to  see  such  a 
calamity!  Our  fine  young  Mr.  Harry!  Oh " 

"Harry  will  have  to  listen  to  reason,"  Anna  firmly 
commented.  "His  father  sees  this  matter  just  as  I  do. 
We  simply  shall  not  tolerate  it.  He  just  now  threat 
ened  to  disown  him  if  he  should  prove  obstinate." 

This  did  not  comfort  Barbara;  it  added  to  her  woe. 
"Oh,  my!  Oh,  my!  What  a  misfortune!  What  a 
misfortune !" 

Anna,  as  she  looked  at  her,  out  of  patience,  chanced 
to  let  her  eyes  glance  through  the  window  and  saw 
Bettina  coming.  She  put  her  hand  on  Barbie's  arm, 
urging  her  to  quiet.  "Here  she  comes,"  she  whispered. 
"I'll  speak  to  her  at  once.  Go,  Barbie." 

But  Barbie  stood  and  moaned.  "You  wouldn't 
listen  to  me.  I  told  you  long  ago!  Nothing  now 
will  do  the  least  good  in  the  world!" 

"Yes,  dear;  this  time  you  were  right,"  said  Anna 
soothingly.  She  patted  her  to  urge  her  into  quiet. 
"Go  now,  please." 

"You  wouldn't  listen!  You  wouldn't  listen!  You 
wouldn't  listen!"  Barbie  moaned  as  she  shuffled  to 
ward  the  kitchen. 

Bettina  came  in  blithely.     She  had  some  letters  in 


198       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

her  hand  and  a  small  parcel.  She  laid  the  parcel  on 
the  table  and  went  through  the  letters.  "I  brought 
the  mail." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Anna,  taking  what  she  held  out 
to  her,  but  not  looking  at  it.  Instead  she  laid  it  on 
the  table  and  gazed  steadfastly  and  somewhat  wonder- 
ingly  at  Bettina,  till  Bettina  raised  her  eyes  from 
contemplation  of  three  letters  which  she  still  had  in 
her  hand.  They  were  addressed  in  her  own  large 
and  full  handwriting  and  she  knew  them  to  be  from 
Sevigny. 

"Miss  Curtis,  please  sit  down  a  moment.  I  would 
like  to  speak  to  you." 

Instantly  the  girl  was  ill  at  ease.  What  could  be 
coming?  Had  Mrs.  Hoffman  overheard  what  her 
husband  had  that  morning  said  to  her?  Or  had  she 
guessed  that  Harry  had  been  making  love  to  her? 
She  really  was  frightened.  "Mrs.  Hoffman!" 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Anna  calmly,  "I'm  very  sorry 
to  have  to  tell  you,  but  I  must.  I — I  have  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  my  house  is  really  not  quite  a 
suitable  place  for  you." 

Bettina  was  still  more  alarmed.  "Mrs.  Hoffman, 
what  am  I  to  understand  by  that?" 

Anna  looked  up  at  her  briefly;  she  had  some 
napkins  in  her  hand  which  needed  mending,  and  she 
gave  her  principal  attention  to  them. 

"You  have  no  opportunity  to  make  use  of  your 
talents  here,"  she  said  kindly,  but  unfalteringly.  "You 
play  the  piano,  you  sing  prettily,  you  read  aloud  quite 
charmingly.  You  should  try  to  get  a  place  as  com- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       199 

panion  somewhere  in  a  city.  For  my  household  you 
are  really  not  fitted." 

"Mrs.  Hoffman,  have  I  been  lacking  in  willing 
ness,  or  diligence?" 

"It's  not  that.  But  you  have  not  the  proper  quali 
fications  for  such  a  hundrum  life.  You  don't  care 
at  all  for  housework,  and  I  can't  blame  you  for  it. 
You  were  brought  up  to  different  things.  And  you 
are  a  pretty  girl — you  must  take  care  of  your  beauty." 
Anna's  tones  were  wholly  matter  of  fact  and  placid. 

Bettina  was  dismayed.  Was  she  to  be  turned  away 
just  as  things  were  shaping  up  into — she  knew  not 
what — but  something,  anyway,  which  might  be  ad 
vantageous?  "Oh,  please!"  she  pleaded. 

"You  seem  to  be  afraid,"  said  Anna,  "that  the 
least  bit  of  sunshine  will  ruin  your  complexion. 
Summer  is  coming  here  and  there  will  be  work  in  the 
garden  and  among  the  flowers.  I  love  to  do  such 
work;  whoever  I  have  with  me  should  care  about 
such  work.  You  never  do  the  slightest  thing  without 
first  putting  on  your  gloves."  She  shook  her  head. 
"No,  you  see,  I  need  a  plain  woman  to  assist  me." 

"But " 

"I  will  pay  you  your  salary  for  three  months ;  you 
can  go  back  to  your  mother  and  there  look  about.  It 
will  enable  you  to  wait  without  real  inconvenience 
until  you  can  find  some  other  and  better  position." 

Bettina's  face  was  ashen.  "Everyone  will  ask  me 
why  I  had  to  leave  here  so  soon." 

"I  will  give  you  a  good  recommendation." 

Bettina  saw  her  dreams  all  vanishing  as  if  by  some 


300       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

malevolent  magic.  It  seemed  incredible.  It  must  not 
be!  She  held  her  hands  out  pleadingly.  "Do  keep 
me.  I — beg  of  you !" 

Anna  shook  her  head. 

"Let  me  stay  over  the  summer,  Mrs.  Hoffman!'* 
As  she  spoke  the  thought  of  the  hot  city  rose  into 
her  mind — the  clanging  of  the  trolley-cars,  the  raucous 
notes  of  motors,  the  shouting  of  the  playing  children, 
and  far  more  than  these  things,  the  sordid  hot  un 
comfortable  rooms  of  the  crowded  little  flat,  her 
mother's  constant  plaints,  her  drunken  stepfather,  the 
occasional  visits  of  her  brother  when  he  happened  to 
be  "broke,"  the  cheap  love-affairs  and  furtive  sweet 
hearts  of  her  little  sister,  the  unceasing  smell  of  cook 
ing  surging  from  their  own  kitchen  and  by  way  of 
shafts  from  other  kitchens  through  the  house. 

And  all  her  dreams  to  go!  The  old  gentleman — 
she  had  not  known,  that  morning,  exactly  what  to 
make  of  him,  to  think  about  his  fervor,  although  often 
she  had  wondered  if  she  had  not — possibly — well,  he 
had  money,  anyway!  And  Harry!  She  really  was 
rather  fond  of  Harry! 

"Please  let  me  stay!"  she  pleaded. 

Anna  shook  her  head. 

"Do  keep  me!" 

It  did  not  once  occur  to  her  that  she  was  begging 
this  gray  woman  for  the  privilege  of  staying  there 
and  wrecking  her;  she  did  not  consider  her  at  all; 
she  thought  only  of  herself  and  the  black  ruin  which 
so  unexpectedly  seemed  now  to  threaten  all  her  plans. 

Again  Anna  shook  her  head. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       201 

"Not  just  through  the  summer,  Mrs.  Hoffman? 
It  is  so  much  easier  to  find  a  position  in  the  fall." 
Oh,  how  she  hated  her  for  forcing  her  to  beg!  How 
she  would  love  to  be  revenged  in  some  way !  "Please 
— just  through  the  summer!" 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  will  give  you  three  months' 
salary.  That  will  cover  the  whole  summer.  Let's 
not  argue  any  longer." 

Bettina  now  saw  that  her  case  was  hopeless  with 
this  horrible  old  woman.  She  faced  her  sharply, 
drawing  up  and  pulling  off  her  gloves — the  gloves 
to  which  this  arrogant  housekeeper  so  objected. 

Her  voice  became  impertinent  and  sharpened  in  its 
inflections.  "What  offense  have  I  committed  that 
you  send  me  away  like  this  at  a  moment's  notice  ?" 

"I  have  not  said  that  you  have  committed  any 
offense." 

"You  cannot  discharge  me  without  a  reason." 

Anna  looked  at  her  with  some  astonishment — the 
girl's  demeanor  had  so  changed.  She  was  no  longer 
pleading,  but  accusing.  "I  am  not  obliged  to  state 
my  reason." 

Bettina  glared  at  her.  "I  shall  look  to  Mr.  Hoff 
man  for  justice,"  she  exclaimed. 

Anna  spoke  very  calmly.  "To  my  husband?  He 
never  interferes  in  my  affairs." 

"Surely  he  would " 

"I  employ  the  servants  and  I  discharge  them  ac 
cording  to  my  pleasure."  Anna  interrupted  quietly, 
but  very  firmly,  very  coldly. 

"I  am  not  a  servant!"  cried  Bettina  haughtily. 


202       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"You  are  in  my  service  and  you  will  do  well  not 
to  forget  that." 

"Mr.  Hoffman  would  not  allow  me  to  be  treated 
in  this  manner." 

"Kindly  leave  my  husband  entirely  out  of  this.  I 
should  advise  you  not  to  appeal  to  him.  He  can  be 
very  disagreeable  when  annoyed  about  trifles." 

Bettina  almost  sneered  at  her.  "Well,  we'll  see 
whether  he  thinks  this  is  a  trifle!" 

Anna  showed  increased  surprise  and  more  reproof. 
"That  is  not  the  proper  tone  for  you  to  assume  toward 
me." 

Bettina  whirled  upon  her  angrily,  infuriated,  like 
a  cat.  "Why  not  ?  You're  not  a  queen,  or  a  princess 
— you  are  merely  Mrs.  Hoffman,  the  wife  of  your 
husband.  You  are  nothing  more  than  that !" 

Suddenly,  white  and  very  angry,  but  entirely  self- 
repressed,  Anna  took  her  mending  basket  and  rose 
slowly,  "But  if  I  am  my  husband's  wife,  even  though 
nothing  more,  I  at  least  have  the  privilege  of  ordering 
impertinent  persons  out  of  my  house." 

She  walked  across  the  room  without  another  glance 
at  the  infuriated  girl. 

"If  you  do  you  will  regret  it!"  cried  Bettina  fiercely. 

To  the  threat  Anna  paid  not  the  least  attention. 
"Miss  Curtis,"  she  said  slowly,  "the  east-bound  train 
leaves  at  exactly  noon.  In  three  quarters  of  an  hour — 
at  eleven — the  man  will  come  to  take  you  to  the  sta 
tion.  Have  your  trunk  quite  ready,  please,  a  little  in 
advance." 

She  vanished  through  the  door  into  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

For  an  instant  Bettina  stood  in  dismayed  silence. 
This  seemed  beyond  belief.  Her  wrath  was  bound 
less,  her  chagrin  unfathomable. 

Were  all  the  nebulous  plans  which  she  had  been 
so  sedulously  forcing  into  definite  form  to  thus  be 
brought  to  naught  ?  Had  she  wasted  all  these  months 
there  in  that  poky  little  town?  Was  she,  a  really 
accomplished  young  woman  of  the  world,  to  thus  be 
beaten  by  a  country-woman  who  had  lived  her  life 
in  a  small  city — almost  in  the  rural  districts — who 
wore  dowdy  clothes  and  didn't  know  it,  lived  in  a 
hair-cloth  furnished  house,  made  of  herself  a  house 
keeper  and  little  else,  and  was  contented  to  remain, 
thus  suffering  the  gibes  of  a  disgruntled,  disillusioned 
husband,  without  the  least  conception  of  how  to  get 
his  love  back?  Was  she  to  be  outgeneraled  by  one 
who  spent  her  days  in  darning  napkins,  counting 
table-cloths,  poring  over  house-accounts  and  seeing 
to  it  that  some  twelve  or  fourteen  rooms  were  aired? 

She  could  see  no  way  out  of  it,  and  moved  de 
jectedly  toward  the  hall  door,  intending  to  go  up 
and  pack  her  things.  Anna's  manner  had  been  really 
impressive.  She  had  seemed  a  really  terrible  old 
woman  as,  utterly  unruffled,  she  had  practically  or 
dered  her  out  of  the  house.  For  the  first  time  in  her 

203 


204       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

life  Bettina  had  been  made  to  feel  distinctly  small 
and  mean — and  it  had  been  this  country-woman  who 
had  worked  the  miracle!  How  she  hated  her  for  it! 

Walking  slowly,  thoughtfully,  infuriated  because 
her  desperate  thinking  gave  her  no  suggestion  of  a 
way  out  of  the  difficulty,  she  was  about  to  start  up 
the  hall  stairs,  to  actually  do  as  she  had  been  so 
firmly  bidden,  when,  from  a  distance,  she  heard 
whistling.  It  gave  her  new  life.  She  stopped  fur 
tively  and  listened — stopped  as  might  a  beautiful  she- 
hound  about  to  leave  the  hunt  discouraged,  when  she 
gets  an  unexpected  scent  of  quarry.  She  knew  that 
whistle  very  well.  It  was  Harry's. 

Listening,  she  was  stricken  by  an  inspiration.  She 
went  quickly  to  the  window,  through  which  Anna  had 
been  fearful  that  the  sun  would  fade  the  carpet,  moved 
one  side  of  the  curtain  with  the  utmost  care,  peered 
out.  Then  she  hurried  to  the  door  which  led  to 
the  side  hall,  through  which  he  would  be  sure  to  enter, 
and  placed  it  half  a  foot  ajar.  This  done,  she  hurried 
to  a  chair  by  the  great  mahogany  reading  table,  which 
was  supported  by  such  grewsome  claws  that  when  she 
had  first  sat  down  at  it,  she  had  been  involuntarily 
nervous  lest  they  come  to  life  and  seize  her  feet. 
Bowing  her  head  upon  her  folded  arms  she  now  began 
to  sob  with  violence,  not  noisily,  but  audibly  enough 
to  surely  make  herself  heard  in  the  side  hall. 

She  was  thus  placed,  thus  sobbing,  when  Harry 
reached  the  slightly  open  door.  He  did  not  fail  to 
hear  her  and,  hearing  her,  peered  anxiously  within. 
Seeing  who  it  was  that  thus  repined,  he  thrust  the 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       205 

door  wide  open,  and,  in  two  strides,  was  at  her  side. 

"Bettina !"  he  exclaimed.  "For  heaven's  sake,  what 
is  the  matter?" 

She  did  not  even  raise  her  head,  but  sobbed  with 
new  abandon  of  wild  grief. 

"Tell  me!    What  has  happened?" 

Still  she  did  not  answer,  but  sobbed  on. 

"Please!" 

With  an  evident  effort  she  composed  herself  to 
broken  speech.  "To  be  driven  away — like  a — thief!" 
she  cried  in  bitter  gasps. 

"Who?"  said  the  amazed  and  startled  boy.  "Who 
drives  you  away,  Bettina?" 

"Your — mother." 

Harry  was  incredulous.    "What?     Mother?" 

Her  wrath  rose  again  and  she  stopped  sobbing. 
Looking  up,  her  face  flushed  vividly,  her  hair  a  little 
disarranged,  her  fists  clenched,  she  made  a  very  charm 
ing  fury.  "Yes,  your  mother!  She's  ordered  me  out 
of  the  house!  I  am  instantly  to  pack  my  things — 
and  go!"  Then,  as  he  stood  speechless,  gazing  at 
her:  "What  did  you  come  back  for?" 

"Father  sent  me  for  some  papers.  But  why  has 
mother  done  this?  Tell  me — why?" 

She  dropped  her  head  and  sobbed  again.  He  looked 
down  at  her  compassionately,  watching  her  shaking 
shoulders  with  deep  sorrow  in  his  youthful,  earnest, 
handsome  eyes.  He  could  not  understand  this  thing. 

"Why?"  he  repeated. 

"Why?"  she  sobbed.  "On  your  account.  She 
thinks — I  think  she  must  think — that  there  is  some- 


206       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

thing  wrong  between  us.  No  one  seems  to  believe 
in  me.  And  I — am  a  poor  girl — who  has  nothing  in 
this  whole  wide  world — but  her  good  name!  If  they 
— take  that  away  from  me — why,  I  shall  have  to 
die !  I  couldn't  live — a  minute !" 

"Bettina!"  he  gasped,  horrified.  "No  one  would 
dare " 

"I  have  no  father  to  defend  me,"  she  sobbed  on 
effectively.  "I  am  alone  and  unprotected." 

This  stirred  him,  roused  the  manhood  in  him.  "No ; 
not  unprotected,"  he  declaimed.  "I  will  protect  you 
against  the  whole  world." 

"But  not  against  your  mother,"  she  said  weakly, 
although  she  managed  to  look  up,  so  that  she  might 
catch  the  look  on  the  boy's  face. 

"Even  against  her,"  he  bravely  cried.  Then, 
warmly  and  sincerely,  bending  over  her,  his  face  burn 
ing  with  emotion:  "Oh,  Bettina!  I  love  you  above 
everything.  I've — often  told  you  so.  Won't  you 
believe  me  now?" 

"How  can  I,"  she  said  sadly.  "You  treat  this  as 
a  little  love  affair — as  a  mere  passing  fancy!  Why 
should  I  believe  your  intentions  to  be  honorable?" 

"The  most  honorable  in  the  world!"  he  said  with 
fervor,  meaning  every  syllable  of  it,  as  she  well  knew. 
"I'll  go  to  mother  at  once.  She  must  set  this 
right." 

"No !"  said  Bettina,  rising  proudly.  "Do  you  think 
I  would  spend  another  night  in  the  house  from  which 
I  have  been  ordered  to  go  ?  No !  I  have  some  pride ! 
I  am  going  to  go." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       207 

Harry  did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  "Then  you  shall 
go  only  as  my  wife!" 

Arrested  in  her  progress  toward  the  door,  she 
turned,  looked  at  him  uncertainly,  then  flung  herself 
into  his  arms.  "Harry!"  she  exclaimed  as  if  in 
ecstasy.  "Harry !" 

He  was  beside  himself  with  joy.  He  threw  his 
arms  about  her,  kissing  her  ecstatically.  "Bettina! 
Oh,  my  own  Bettina!" 

However,  she  looked  up  quickly  from  his  shoulder. 
Transports  are  delightful,  but  there  are  other  things 
than  momentary  joy  to  be  considered  in  this  world, 
as  none  knew  better  than  herself.  "But  what  will 
your  father  say?" 

There  was  gloom  in  Harry's  answer,  but  there  was 
determination,  too.  Indeed,  the  boy  was  rather  fine 
just  then,  despite  his  youth,  despite  his  innocence. 
"Oh,  father's  certain  to  be  furious!  He  has  sworn 
already  that  he'll  disinherit  me  if  I  make  you  my  wife. 
Barbie  told  me." 

Bettina  first  grew  grave  and  then  grew  cool.  She 
had  no  desire  to  be  the  heroine  of  a  romance  like 
that.  She  had  read  in  the  newspapers  about  too  many 
of  them.  They  did  not  work  out  well  for  the  woman 
in  the  case. 

"Is  that  true?" 

Harry's  voice  was  full  of  thrills,  of  firm  resolve,  of 
manly  independence.  "Oh,  it's  nothing!  We  are 
young ;  we'll  make  our  own  way  in  the  world." 

She  had  lost  much  of  her  enthusiasm  and  drew 
back  from  him  a  little. 


208       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Won't  we,  Bettina?" 

She  answered  .doubtfully,  dodging  a  direct  reply : 
"Y  e  s — but  surely  he — your  father — could  not  en 
tirely  forsake  you!" 

"Couldn't!"  Harry  gave  a  careless  little  laugh. 
"You  don't  know  him.  He  has  a  will  of  iron.  He 
would  never  help  me,  even  if  for  years  he  saw  me 
struggling  for  a  pittance." 

A  queer  change  appeared  upon  his  darling's  face. 
Slowly  she  put  his  arms  away  from  her.  Gradually 
she  drew  away  from  him.  "Struggling  for  a — 
pittance !  But — how  are  we  going  to  live  ?"  The  last 
six  words  came  rapidly. 

Harry,  however,  intoxicated  by  the  wine  of  his 
enthusiasm,  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  He  looked 
across  her  shoulder  into  the  illimitable  future.  "And 
I  want  nothing  from  him!  If  he  is  hard-hearted 
enough  to  destroy  my  happiness,  let  him  keep  his 
money !" 

He  made  a  striking  spectacle  of  high-minded  youth 
as  he  delivered  this,  but  Bettina  was  not  thinking 
of  fine  spectacles.  She  had  no  wish  to  spring 
out  of  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire.  What  she 
had  come  to  seek  was  not  a  disinherited  son, .but  a 
rich  man.  Still,  she  felt  that  she  must  withdraw 
gracefully. 

"No,  Harry;  no!"  she  said  with  a  fine  air  of  resig 
nation  and  self-sacrifice.  "You  must  not  break  with 
your  parents  upon  my  account." 

"Bettina!"  he  cried  impulsively,  anxious  to  impress 
her  with  the  fact  that  he  cared  nothing  for  the  balance 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       209 

of  the  world,  and  not  a  little  worried  by  the  startling 
change  in  her. 

"You  must  forget  me.    It  is  for  the  best." 

"No.     .     .     .     No!" 

She  backed  away  from  his  entreating  arms.  "For 
get  me,  Harry!  Ah — good-by1."  Now  she  definitely 
turned  away  and  started  once  more  toward  the  hall. 

"Bettina,"  he  implored,  "I — I  forget  you!  I  am 
going  to  my  parents  and  announce  our  engagement 
this  very  moment!" 

This  time  she  could  not  stop  him,  much  as  she  de 
sired  to.  But  as  he  was  rushing  from  the  room,  he 
met  his  father  at  the  threshold.  That  stopped  him. 
Harry  startled,  but  not  weakening;  Hoffman's  face 
unpleasantly  illumined  by  that  sarcastic  glow  with 
which,  not  infrequently,  of  late,  he  had  regarded  his 
only  son. 

"Father,"  said  the  boy  after  an  uncomfortable 
silence,  during  which  the  flush  upon  his  face  changed 
into  a  deep,  brick-red,  "mother  said " 

His  father's  look  of  cold,  calm  disapproval  stopped 
him. 

"What?"  The  word  came  sharply.  "What  did  she 
say?" 

"Mother  has  discharged  Miss  Curtis,"  the  boy 
blurted. 

Now  Hoffman  showed  real  interest.  Incredulity 
and  wrath  were  blended  on  his  face.  "What?" 

It  gave  Harry  courage.  "Yes ;  discharged  her  with 
out  a  moment's  notice."  He  paused  to  let  this  take 
effect,  while  Hoffman's  lowering  brow  grew  darker 


210       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

with  its  wrath.  "But  I  will  not  let  her  be  treated  in 
such  a  manner." 

His  father  whirled  on  him — he  had  been  gazing  at 
Bettina.  "What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Miss  Curtis,"  said  the  infatuated  and  brave- 
hearted  boy,  "is  under  my  protection." 

For  a  second  Hoffman  stared  in  genuine  unbelief. 
Then  he  spoke  in  tones  which  voiced  disgusted  wrath. 
"Get  back  to  the  factory!  Don't  meddle  in  affairs 
that  don't  concern  you!  Whoever  is  in  my  house  is 
under  my  protection!" 

Bettina,  worried  lest  the  boy  now  spoil  her  re-made 
plans  with  too  much  talking — indeed,  very  badly 
frightened — filled  with  a  new  hope  born  of  Hoffman's 
glances  toward  her,  went  to  the  lad  pleadingly.  "Go, 
Harry!  Leave  this  to  me." 

His  eyes  were  on  his  father.  He  was  undecided 
what  to  do.  He  thought  that  probably  Bettina  would 
be  cleverer  than  he,  yet  it  seemed  to  him  unmanly 
to  leave  her  there  alone  with  the  very  evidently,  very 
angry  Hoffman.  "But— father " 

"Later — later,"  urged  Bettina. 

"Father,"  said  the  boy,  half  disregarding  her,  "you 
must  let  me  speak  to  you  at  once." 

"Not  another  word,"  his  father  thundered.    "Go!" 

And  when  Harry  started  once  again  to  speak,  he 
cast  the  word  a  second  time  at  him,  as  if  it  might 
have  been  a  missile. 

There  was  no  use  in  staying,  and  of  this  Harry 
was  aware.  Bettina  might  do  something;  he  could 
not.  He  threw  Hoffman  one  glance  of  defiance  and 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       211] 

left  them  together,  his  heart  bursting  with  the  in 
dignation  in  it,  his  brain  full  of  mighty  plans,  his  soul 
stirred  to  its  depths. 

As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared,  Bettina,  without 
words,  started  very  humbly  toward  the  hall. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Hoffman  asked,  puzzled 
by  the  whole  extraordinary  situation. 

Her  manner  had  changed  wholly.  Now  she  was 
the  injured  maiden,  crushed,  submitting,  perforce,  to 
great  injustice,  which  she  had  no  strength  to  combat. 
"I  am  going  to  pack  my  trunk." 

He  went  to  her  and  caught  her  arm.  "What  do 
you  mean?  You  don't  want  to  go." 

"Who  cares  what  I  want?  Mrs.  Hoffman  com 
mands  and  I  must  obey." 

"It's  true,  then,  that  she  has  dismissed  you?" 

A  little  indignation  marked  her  answering  voice  and 
gesture — but  more  hopeless  helplessness.  "Not  that^ 
She  simply — throws  me  out  of  the  house !" 

He  was  dumfounded.  "Throws  you  out?  I'm 
sure  it  is  a  misunderstanding." 

She  laughed  sorrily.  "Mrs.  Hoffman  spoke  plainly 
enough.  I  must  be  gone  by  ten  o'clock."  She  turned 
again  to  go.  "So  please  don't  detain  me,  or  I  won't 
be  able  to  finish  packing."  Then  she  cried  indignantly : 
"And  I  ask  you^  please,  to  have  Mrs.  Hoffman  search 
my  trunk  before  I  lock  it  so  that  she  will  be  sure  I 
haven't  stolen  anything!" 

He  would  not  let  her  go.  The  whole  thing  seemed 
to  him  beyond  belief.  "Come,  tell  me,"  he  urged. 
He  led  her  to  a  chair  and  gently  forced  her  into  it. 


212       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"What  has  happened  ?  You're  completely  upset.  Has 
my  wife  expressed  any  such  suspicions?  Has  she — 
insulted  you?" 

Bettina's  throat  worked  as  if  endeavoring  to  choke 
back  sobs.  "Oh — no.  She  merely  spoke  as  the  lady 
of  the  house  may  speak — to  a  servant!" 

"She  has  hurt  your  feelings."  His  voice  was  a 
comforter's.  "I  can  see  that."  Then  his  manner 
became  definitely  fatherly.  "But  I  will  not  let  anyone 
treat  you  unjustly." 

She  looked  at  him  with  swimming  eyes  in  which 
blind  confidence  was  very  prettily  expressed.  Her 
trust  in  him,  indeed,  seemed  almost  childlike.  "Mr. 
Hoffman,  you  are  just — I  know  that."  She  slowly 
shook  her  head.  "But  you  can't  do  anything  for  me 
in  this  matter." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Mrs.  Hoffman  tells  me  that  she  hires  the — ser 
vants — and  discharges  them;  that  with  them  she  does 
as  she  pleases  and  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  inter 
fere." 

The  strong  stubbornness  which  was  a  dominant 
characteristic  of  the  man  rose  in  his  face,  while  his 
lifelong  intolerance  of  the  surrender  of  any  part  of 
his  command  was  expressed  as  plainly  by  his  com 
pressed,  silent  lips  as  it  could  have  been  had  they 
used  words  to  tell  it. 

He  crossed  the  room,  found  a  chair  and  brought 
it  to  her  side,  not  sitting  in  it,  but  leaning  on  its  back. 
Finally:  "Well,  that's  news  to  me!  I'll  see  whether 
I  really  have  no  right  to  interfere !  I'll  learn  whether 
I  am  master  in  my  house  or  not!  If  you  have  been 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       213 

wronged  I'll  see  to  it  that  you  have  justice.     You 
may  rely  upon  it." 

He  left  the  chair  which,  with  such  pains,  he  had 
borne  across  the  room,  and  began  to  pace  the  floor 
with  slow,  firm  strides,  his  face  even  harder  than  it 
had  been. 

Rising,  she  went  pleadingly  to  him.  "Oh,  please 
don't!  Why  bother  about  me?  I'm  only  a  poor 
servant — Mrs.  Hoffman  is  quite  right.  I  wouldn't, 
for  the  world,  cause  any  trouble  here — where  I  have 
been  so  happy!  I  had  believed  myself  protected  by 
the  good — the  strong.  Why,  I  had  quite  forgotten 
that  I'm  but  a  stranger  here!" 

Now  the  sobs  again  came  and  she  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  as  she  hurried  to  the  chair  beside  the 
table  and  bowed  her  head  upon  it  while  her  shoulders 
shook  in  an  apparent  agony. 

It  mastered  him.  Deeply  moved,  he  pushed  her 
hands  down  gently  and  then  took  her  face  between 
his  hands.  Presently  he  began  to  gently  stroke  her 
hair.  "Oh,  my  child !  My  dear  child !  I  am  grieved ! 
I'm  deeply  grieved!" 

Through  her  tears  she  smiled  at  him. 

Now  he  paced  the  floor  again,  thinking  tensely. 
"I  simply  cannot  understand  my  wife.  It  must  be 
because  of  Harry.  In  that  they're  all  alike.  The 
lioness  defending  her  cubs !" 

She  looked  at  him  with  understanding,  even  nod 
ding.  "I  know  of  what  I  am  accused — that  Harry  is 
in  love  with  me.  Heaven  knows  it's  not  my  fault! 
I  have  not  encouraged  him." 

He  went  to  her  and  took  her  hands,  smiling  at  her. 


214       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Ah,  but  why  are  you  so  pretty,  Bettina?  That 
youngster  has  good  eyes — he  has  them  from  his 
father!"  He  pinched  her  cheek  with  playful  tender 
ness.  "It's  quite  natural."  Then  again  he  took  on 
his  determination.  "But  you  shall  not  be  made  to 
suffer  for  it — not  you."  The  implication  was  that 
dreadful  things  were  held  in  store  for  others. 

She  extended  both  her  hands  to  him  with  a  fine 
gesture  of  deep  gratitude.  "You  believe  in  me?" 
Her  face  was  radiant,  as  if  it  did  not  matter  what 
the  whole  world  thought  if  only  he  believed  in  her. 

"Indeed  I  do."  His  smile  of  confidence  was  fine 
and  full. 

Then  she  accused:  "And  yet — you  threatened  to 
disown  your  son  if  he  should  marry  me!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  blank  astonishment. 

"He  told  me  so  himself  a  little  while  ago." 

He  still  seemed  bewildered  and  incredulous. 

"But  don't  be  afraid.  I  have  refused  him.  Only — 
don't  think  that  I  did  so  from — fear."  She  spoke  up 
with  fine  spirit.  "Were  I  in  love,  I'd  fear  no  one. 
But  I  do  not  love  your  son,  and"  (she  used  her  eyes 
with  startling  eloquence)  "I'll  marry  no  man  unless 
I  love  him."  With  this  her  glance  dropped  quickly 
as  if  she  were  abashed. 

Again  he  took  her  hands.  His  face  had  flushed. 
Extraordinary  thoughts  were  plainly  rushing  through 
his  brain.  He  spoke  thickly,  for  the  spell  of  her 
was  on  him.  "And  could  you  really  love — with  all 
your  heart — Bettina?" 

"Ah — could  I?"     Her  voice  seemed  vibrant  with 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE      215 

deep  passion.  "Yes — yes — yes — with  all  my  heart — • 
with  all  my  soul!  .  .  .  That's  how  I  could 
love!" 

"How  you  say  that !  Do  you — love  someone  now  ?" 
His  grip  upon  her  hand  was  almost  painful. 

She  simulated  fright.    "Please  let  me  go !    I " 

He  was  very  much  aroused.  "No;  you  must  tell 
me  the  truth !"  Then,  very  gently :  "Won't  you  con 
fide  in  me?" 

She  spoke  so  softly  that  he  could  scarcely  catch 
her  words — yet  he  could  catch  them:  "In  anyone 
else — but  not — in  you!" 

The  effect  was  not  as  instantaneous  as  she  had 
hoped.  He  led  her  to  a  chair,  into  which  she  limply 
sank,  and  he  stood,  bending  over  her.  "What?  You 
don't  trust  me?  Come!  I'm  your  friend.  I'm  like 
a — father.  Let  me  advise  you — help  you." 

"No  one  can  help  me,"  she  said  slowly.  "I  must 
bear  my  sorrow — all  alone.  There  can  be  no  happi 
ness  for  me — in  this  world!" 

This  intensified  his  tenderness.  "Don't  say  that — > 
Bettina." 

She  shook  her  head,  as  if  in  weariness  of  soul,  as 
if  in  utter  abnegation  of  all  hope  forever. 

"No  happiness  for  you?"  he  went  on  thickly,  but 
with  growing  speed  of  speech.  "You  don't  know 
how — attached — /  have  become  to  you  in  these  few 
months!  I — don't  want  to  appear — ridiculous — to 
speak  of  love — for  a  young  girl  who  could  easily  be 
my  daughter,  but,  believe  me,  I  have  never  felt  to 
ward  anybody  as  I  feel  toward  you." 


216       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Her  head  sank  lower  as  if  she  wished  to  hide  her 
face  from  him. 

"For  weeks/'  he  went  on  softly,  "I've  been  going 
around  as  if  in  a  fever."  His  voice  became  im 
passioned,  fervent.  "A  hundred  times  I've  said  to 
myself:  'Old  man,  old  man,  be  sensible!'  But  it  is 
of  no  use.  It  has  taken  hold.  It  won't  let  go  of  me. 
I  cannot  get  rid  of  it." 

She  had  listened  breathlessly  to  what  he  had  been 
saying.  As  soon  as  she  was  sure  his  face  was  turned 
away  from  her  (as  if  in  shame)  she  looked  at  him — 
looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  filled  with  delight,  almost 
with  incredulity.  Her  countenance  was  alight  with 
triumph.  But  it  was  buried  in  her  hands  before  he 
turned  again  toward  her. 

"I  suppose  you  find  me  very  ridiculous,"  he  mur 
mured.  "You  are  laughing  at  me.  Go  on — laugh! 
I  deserve  it." 

Now  her  extraordinary,  facile  face  seemed  tremu 
lous  with  happiness,  her  eyes  were  shining,  her  mouth 
drooped,  but  seemed  to  smile  with  joy  unutterable. 

"Yes;  I  wish  to  laugh,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  laugh 
— because  I  am — so  happy !" 

For  an  instant  incredulity  combated  the  joy  which 
marked  his  face.  Then  he  crushed  her  hands  against 
his  breast.  "Bettina!" 

"Can  it  be  true,"  she  said  with  closed  eyes,  softly, 
"that  you  love  me?" 

"I — don't  like  to  speak  that  word.  It — sounds 
almost  grotesque  at  my  age.  Yet,  if  I  were  younger — 

only  a  few  years  younger — Bettina "  He  held 

her  very  close  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       317 

"But — you  are  not  free!"  The  words  came  softly, 
but  were  brimming  with  significance. 

He  dropped  her  hands  and  left  her,  going  slowly 
to  the  window  where  he  stood  looking  out  unseeing. 
After  a  moment  of  reflection  he  returned  to  her  with 
a  dull  gloom  upon  his  face.  "No — that's  true — a  wife 
and  children — they  have  rights." 

Again  he  paused,  but  this  time  looked  into  her 
face.  Fierce  agitation  swept  him.  She  said  abso 
lutely  nothing.  She  was  waiting. 

"But  I,  too,  have  rights,"  he  cried.  "I  have  worked 
for  my  family  all  my  life.  I  have  a  right  to  demand 
some  happiness  for  myself!" 

He  held  her  hands,  but  did  not  draw  her  to  him, 
although  she  would  have  flown  again  into  his  arms. 

"Are  you  sure,  Bettina,  that  there  is  no  one  else 
you  care  for?" 

She  shook  her  head.    "No!    No!" 

But  she  was  no  longer  yielding.  Suddenly  she 
moved  as  if  to  dart  away  from  him  and  he  gripped 
her  hand  with  a  new  force. 

"No,  Bettina?  No?"  he  cried.  "Do  you  want  to 
drive  me  mad  ?"  His  hands  were  trembling  now  with 
his  excitement,  his  face  was  flushed  with  the  desire 
in  it. 

"Let  me  go!"  she  whispered.  "It  is  better.  Ah — > 
I  see  it  now!" 

But  she  did  not  go.  She  drew  closer  to  him, 
turning  her  face  up  to  him,  within  her  eyes  the  wistful 
look  of  a  self-sacrificing  child. 

"Oh,  but  I  cannot  bear  to  be  unhappy!  I  was 
not  born  to — to — renounce!  Every  drop  of  blood  in 


218      THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

me  cries  out  against  it !  I  am  young !  I  want  to  live ! 
I  want  to  be  happy!" 

"And  I!  I  see  in  you  the  happiness  that  I  have 
missed."  His  voice  shook;  his  whole  body  trembled. 
"No  one  shall  take  you  from  me !" 

Now  he  dropped  his  arms  and  fell  into  deep  thought, 
while  she  stood  agitated,  looking  at  him. 

"Nobody  shall  be  treated  unfairly,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Nobody." 

Then,  after  another  instant's  thought,  evidently 
arriving  at  a  clear  decision,  he  said  sharply : 

"Go  upstairs  and  pack  your  things." 

Bettina  did  not  move. 

"And — have  faith  in  me." 

Without  another  word  she  started  from  him,  but 
at  the  door  she  paused  to  look  back  at  him  radiantly. 
"My — own !"  she  murmured  softly. 


'NO   ONE   SHALL  TAKE  YOU    FROM   ME!"  p.   218. 


CHAPTER  IX 

After  a  lingering  look  into  his  eyes  she  ran  up 
stairs,  upon  her  face  a  conflict  of  emotions  mirrored. 
Triumph  was  there,  and,  as  she  thought  of  Anna 
Hoffman,  satisfied  revenge.  Exultant  avarice  was 
there,  and  vanity  unleashed.  Varying  phases  of  her 
mental  tumult  were  reflected  in  the  little  looking-glass 
above  the  dresser  in  the  comfortable  room  which  Anna 
had  assigned  to  her.  Surely  a  strange  "companion" 
she  had  been — strangely  disloyal,  strangely  ungrateful, 
strangely  fatal  to  the  happiness  of  the  woman  who 
had  hired  her. 

But  of  all  her  varying  emotions  not  one  hinted 
(now  that  she  was  quite  alone)  of  the  passion  which 
had  seemed  to  burn  deep  in  her  eyes,  which  apparently 
had  made  her  full  lips  soft  and  yearning,  which  had 
appeared  to  underlie  the  heaving  of  her  bosom,  to 
animate  the  clinging  of  her  arms,  when  she  had  been 
below  with  Anna  Hoffman's  husband. 

Instead,  through  all  the  fast  play  of  her  mobile 
features  one  detail  dominated,  the  detail  of  a  subtle 
sneer.  It  was  not  definite ;  she  was  unconscious  of  it ; 
even  in  her  heart  she  was  not,  at  the  moment,  quite 
scornful  of  the  man  whom  she  had  sworn  she  loved ; 
she  valued  him  too  highly,  but  the  value  which  she 

219 


220       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

placed  on  him  was  not  the  value  which  a  maiden 
places  on  her  suitor,  it  was  not  even  that  which  mis 
tresses  place  on  their  lovers.  It  was,  rather,  some 
thing  close  akin  to  that  which  merchants  place  upon 
some  new,  attractive  treasure  promising  profit,  which 
an  employer  may  place  upon  a  coveted  new  member  of 
a  working  staff.  She  had  achieved  an  asset. 

Already,  as  she  threw  her  things — her  scant  and 
difficultly  won  wardrobe,  her  sparse  and  tawdry  toilet 
silver,  her  few  inexpensive  decorative  knick-knacks — 
into  her  cheap  trunk,  she  was  imagining  great  ward 
robe  trunks  to  come,  to  be  crammed  full  of  marvels 
from  the  shops  along  Fifth  Avenue;  as  she  swiftly 
slipped  out  of  her  house-gown  and  revealed  coarse 
linen,  purchased  ready-made  in  a  department  store, 
she  looked  into  the  mirror  and  saw  a  vision  of  her 
satiny  form  encased  in  silks  and  laces,  Paris-wrought; 
as  she  stooped  to  catch  a  garter  on  a  cotton  stocking, 
she  held  out  the  shapely  limb,  despite  her  sense  of 
need  for  haste,  and  gloated  as  she  thought  of  it  in 
heavily  embroidered  weaves  of  silk.  Catching  her  in 
expensive  traveling-dress  about  her  deftly,  fastening 
its  loops  and  buttons  with  sure,  speedy  fingers,  she 
imagined  it  as  being  altered  for  her  little  sister,  while 
she  went  to  Redfern,  or,  at  other  smart,  expensive 
shops,  ordered  marvelous,  glove-fitting  walking  gowns. 

Upon  the  eve  of  a  momentous  step — upon  the  eve 
of  marriage — each  girl  must  naturally  think  about  her 
mother.  A  mother  forms  a  lovely  subject  for  soft 
contemplation — those  maidenly  reflections  of  a  bud 
ding  girl  whose  bridal  is  approaching,  concerning  her 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       221 

whose  bridal  found  fruition  in  her  own  appearance  in 
the  world,  are  storied  as  the  holiest  of  reveries. 

Bettina  now  thought  of  her  mother.  But  she  did 
not  think  of  her  as  tremulously  fearful,  tearful,  anx 
ious,  full  of  sage  advice  and  loving  kindness  when 
she  heard  the  great  announcement — instead  she  saw 
her  face  aglow  with  satisfaction  purely  mercenary  as 
she  discussed  the  fortune  of  her  daughter's  capture; 
she  saw  her  eyes  alight  with  cold,  hard,  calculating 
cleverness  as  she  helped  plan  the  legal  battle  which 
must  certainly  be  fought  and  won  before  Bettina  gave 
herself  to  her — beloved.  For  Bettina  Curtis,  even 
though  in  Fred's  impassioned  love  he  may  have 
thought  quite  differently,  had  not  the  least  intention 
of  making  a  mis-step  so  great  as  it  would  be  to  grant 
him  any  privileges  before  the  vows  were  said.  The 
beginning,  truly,  had  been  tumultuous  and  sudden,  but 
every  other  step  must  be  accompanied  by  strict  con 
ventionality — that  sad  conventionality  which  in  these 
days  so  often  masks  such  tragedies  as  in  the  olden 
times  were  not  merely  psychological,  pathetic,  but 
brutal,  bloody,  dourly  tragic. 

She  was  ready  for  the  motor  when  it  came  for  her, 
as  Anna  had  directed;  as  Hoffman  gravely  handed 
her  into  it — he  felt  that  this  attention  would,  in  a 
way,  rebuke  his  wife  for  what  she  had  intended — 
and  gave  the  man  explicit  orders  to  look  after  her 
with  care,  to  see  to  the  purchase  of  her  ticket,  to 
attend  to  careful  checking  of  her  trunk,  to  render 
her  as  many  services  as  he  or  she  could  think  of,  she 
felt  a  little  fear.  What  if  he  should  reconsider  after 


222       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

all?  But  the  thick  envelope  which  he  secretly  passed 
to  her — softly  thick  and  full,  she  knew,  of  money — 
and  his  statement  that  in  it  she  would  find  certain 
carefully  detailed  suggestions  which  he  had  prepared 
while  she  had  been  upstairs  renewed  her  courage, 
and  she  smiled  brilliant  thanks. 

"Run  back  to  the  garage  and  get  the  other  robe," 
he  told  the  man.  "This  one  is  in  tatters." 

"But  Mrs.  Hoffman  said " 

"Go  back  to  the  garage  and  get  that  robe!"  com 
manded  Hoffman.  "No;  don't  run  the  car  back. 
Get  out,  and  go  and  get  that  robe." 

Trembling  for  his  place  because  of  the  chill  emphasis 
in  his  employer's  words,  the  cold  dissatisfaction  in 
his  eyes,  the  brutal  arrogance  of  his  demeanor,  the 
man  sprang  from  the  motor  and  made  haste  to  do 
as  he  was  bidden. 

"There's  money  in  that  envelope,"  said  Hoffman 
quickly,  but  not  nervously,  when  they  were  left  alone. 
"Use  it  as  you  like.  I'll  send  you  more,  of  course. 
Get  yourself  such  things  as  you  will  want  for  the — 
for  the " 

She  nodded.  She  knew  that  he  was  trying  to  say 
"marriage,"  but  could  not  bring  his  lips  to  it.  She 
did  not  resent  the  fact  that  they  rebelled. 

"I  shall  arrange  things  here  as  speedily  as  possible. 
I  don't  know  how  long  it  will  take.  Alston  will  push 
things  through  for  me,  I  know.  He  will  object,  but 
I  can  force  him  to  it  when  he  finds  it  is  the  only  way." 

She  nodded  speechlessly.  She  had  suddenly  grown 
frightened  as  she  had  never  been  before.  Every  mo- 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE      223 

ment  she  expected  to  see  Anna  Hoffman's  question 
ing  face  appear  at  the  glass  door  which  opened  on 
the  porch.  She  felt  certain  that  in  case  it  came  she 
would  spring  from  the  motor  and  run  madly — any 
where — to  get  away  from  it.  She  tried  to  summon 
to  her  aid  her  customary  self-control,  but  could  not 
do  it. 

"Yes;  yes,"  she  said  in  agony.  "And — thank  you 
for  the  money.  But — oh,  why  doesn't  he  make  haste  ? 
I  shall  miss  my  train." 

"I  think  you'll  get  it.  If  you  miss  it  he  will  take 
you  across  country  to  the  other  road.  I  have  given 
him  instructions."  He  turned  his  head  as  he  heard 
the  garage  door  close.  "And  above  all  things  re 
member  what  I  said  there  in  the  house.  'Have  faith — 
in  me.' " 

Now,  when  the  chauffeur  was  approaching,  she 
calmed.  She  gave  the  man  who  leaned  upon  the 
tonneau  door  a  brilliant  smile.  "Oh — I  have!  I 
have!" 

"And  want  for  nothing,"  he  managed  to  continue, 
before  the  chauffeur  came  to  hearing  distance.  "Use 
the  money  freely.  There'll  be  more.  I  love  you.  I 
wish  you  to  be  happy." 

"You  are — wonderful!"  she  whispered  as  the  man 
came  up. 

Hoffman  stood  on  the  side  porch  as  they  swept 
out  of  the  yard,  and,  as  she  looked  back  at  him,  smiled 
gravely. 

He  was  not  bad  looking  in  the  least  she  mused — 
not  bad  looking  for  his  age;  and  the  envelope  of 


224       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

money  had  been  thoughtful ;  the  promise  to  send  mote 
was  an  indication  that  he  would  be  generous  in  future. 
rWell  out  of  the  grounds  she  settled  back  into  the 
cushions  with  a  smile.  She  even  laughed  a  little, 
audibly,  but  checked  the  impulse  quickly.  She  did 
not  wish  to  have  the  chauffeur  hear  her  shout  with 
glee. 

But — ah,  Anna  Hoffman,  who  was  mistress  of  the 
situation  now?  She  pressed  the  envelope  of  money 
tight  between  her  slim,  gloved  hands.  How  wonderful 
it  was ! 

After  she  had  gone,  Hoffman  went  slowly  into 
the  house  and  stood,  wrapped  in  deep  thought,  in 
the  dim  library.  His  face  was  knotted,  as  it  always 
was  when  he  was  working  out  some  abstruse,  puzzling 
business  problem.  He  was  concentrating,  with  the 
last  ounce  of  his  fierce  intensity,  upon  the  puzzle  which 
confronted  him.  At  length  he  called  to  Barbie. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hoffman,"  she  said  timidly,  as  she  came 
in.  His  temper  was  not  likely  to  be  smoother  than 
it  usually  was  upon  a  day  when  such  portentous  and 
disturbing  things  had  happened  in  the  house. 

"Call  Mrs.  Hoffman,"  he  said  briefly.  "I  wish  to 
speak  to  her." 

This  frightened  her  beyond  the  power  of  a  reply, 
for  at  a  time  when  Anna  was  but  newly  convalescent, 
even  Frederick  Hoffman  would  ordinarily  have  gone 
up  to  her,  if  he  had  things  he  wished  to  talk  about. 

She  hurried  voiceless  to  obey  his  order  and  presently 
his  wife  came  down  to  him — placid,  wholly  undis 
turbed. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       225 

"Did  you  tell  Barbie  that  you  wished  to  see 
me?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

He  found  it  difficult  to  make  a  start,  but  mastered 
his  embarrassment  with  a  firm  effort  of  his  iron  will. 
"Anna,  you  have  caused  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to 
day." 

She  seemed  surprised.    "I?    In  what  way?" 

"You  allowed  yourself  to  be  carried  away  by  temper 
and  you  were  entirely  too  hard  on  that  poor  girl. 
She " 

"I  suppose  you  mean  Miss  Curtis,"  she  said  calmly. 
"Then  she  has  complained  about  it." 

His  embarrassment  still  troubled  him.  "No;  but 
I  know  exactly  what  happened." 

"Well,  then,  the  incident  is  closed."  Anna  did  not 
even  look  at  him,  but,  sitting  at  a  table,  took  her 
darning-basket  from  it  and  began  to  search  its  con 
tents. 

He  found  words  constantly  more  difficult  of  selec 
tion,  but  he  held  to  his  purpose  grimly.  "Sometimes, 
Anna,  a  small  spark  may  cause  a  frightful  explosion." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  mild  astonishment.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"You  shouldn't  have  done  that."  It  was  difficult  to 
keep  his  voice  from  shaking  with  the  emphasis  which 
tried  to  creep  into  his  words  and  which  he  struggled 
to  keep  out  of  them. 

"I  shouldn't  have  done  what?" 

He  was  trembling  now ;  her  calm  at  last  infuriated 


226       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

him.  That  made  his  words  come  easier.  "You  have 
thrown  a  spark  into  a  barrel  of  powder." 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

Now  the  leash  broke.  His  voice  rose  accusingly, 
complainingly.  "No ;  that's  it !  You  don't  understand 
me,  and  you  have  never  understood  me.  Our — char 
acters — are  essentially  different." 

Still  she  was  undisturbed.  Of  late  there  had  been 
so  many  outbursts  from  him  that  a  new  one  failed 
to  stir  her.  She  spoke  only  kindly,  utterly  unconscious 
of  the  impending  tragedy.  "Fred,  I  think  we  have 
been  as  happy  as  most  people." 

He  threw  his  hands  into  the  air  in  helpless  protest 
at  her  denseness  and  strode  back  and  forth  across 
the  room. 

"Where  is  there  a  marriage  free  from  storms?" 
she  went  on  smoothly.  "And  now  that  we  are  both 
growing  old " 

Again  that  word  "old"  touched  him.  He  stopped 
before  her  angrily.  "I  am  not  the — 'old  gentleman' — 
that  all  of  you  in  this  house  are  trying  to  make  me." 

She  looked  up,  really  surprised  by  the  fierce  vehem 
ence  of  his  denial. 

"There  are  a  great  many  men  who,  in  advanced 
years,  much  older  than  I  am,  have — married,"  he 
went  on. 

She  was  wholly  puzzled,  but  kept  her  eyes  on  him 
inquiringly. 

"They  did  right — quite  right!"  he  cried.  "We  are 
all  entitled  to  our  happiness.  That  is  the  only  true 
philosophy." 


'you  DON'T  UNDERSTAND  ME  AND  you  HAVE  NCVEB  UNDEBSTOOD  ME!" 

p.  226. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       227 

"Since  when  have  you  taken  up  philosophy?"  she 
asked  with  a  slight  smile. 

"Well,  what  did  you  think?  That  I  am  interested 
only  in  the  eternal  grind  of  business  ?"  He  approached 
her  accusingly.  "That,  alone,  shows  how  little  you 
know  me!  Have  you  expected  me  to  move  along 
unceasingly  in  the  old  groove  year  in  year  out?  I 
tell  you  it  has  been  that  which  has  been  driving  me 
crazy!"  He  stooped  to  look  into  her  eyes,  almost 
malevolently.  "Don't  you  understand  how  horrible 
it  is?  I  sit  as  in  a  prison — looking  through  barred 
windows — and  out  there  is  life!  In  prison — having 
done  no  crime!" 

She  was  only  the  more  puzzled.  "I  don't  under 
stand " 

He  shrugged  helplessly  and  changed  his  line  of  argu 
ment.  "Do  you  know,  Anna,  why  our  old  friend, 
Henry  Purcell,  is  living  in  New  York?  Away  from 
his  family?" 

"I  suppose  it  is  for  business  reasons."  She  re 
mained  entirely  unruffled. 

"No.    He  has  gone  and  he  will  not  return." 

She  was  astonished.     "What?" 

"It  is  quite  true.  He  says  that  when  married  people 
feel  that  they  cannot  live  happily  together  they  should 
separate.  Not  in  anger,  but  in  all  kindness  and  friend 
ship,  so  that  the  injury  may  be  repaired,  so  that  each 
may  seek  his  happiness,  or  hers,  in  the  best  way,  with 
out  interference  from  the  other.  Now  consider,  Anna. 
Isn't  that  the  right  view  of  the  matter  ?" 

Her   amazement    struggled   with    her   incredulity. 


228       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"But  how  can  they  separate — after  twenty-five  years 
together — and  with  grandchildren?" 

His  voice,  in  answering,  was  nervous  and  excited, 
as  if,  even  in  advance  of  her  understanding  of  the 
situation,  he  wished  to  hurriedly  assure  her  that  he, 
himself,  should  do  as  well  by  his  wife  and  his  children. 
"They  will  be  well  provided  for — both  the  children 
and  the  wife.  And  I,  Anna — I " 

She  interrupted  him,  but,  even  as  she  did  so,  turned 
back  to  her  petty  work.  It  was  as  if  she  wished  to 
put  such  bizarre  episodes  out  of  her  mind  as  soon  as 
possible  and  felt  that  he,  too,  must  detest  considera 
tion  of  them.  "What  is  the  world  coming  to?"  she 
sighed,  and  then  rose,  as  if  to  leave  the  room.  "It 
seems  that  marriage  does  not  mean  as  much  nowadays 
as  it  did  when  we  were  young." 

"That,"  said  he,  "is  one  of  the  subjects  on  which 
>ve  don't  agree,  and  another  is  this  girl,  Bettina,  Anna. 
'Anna — I — want  you  to  know — that " 

Again  she  interrupted  him,  this  time  with  firm,  cool, 
decisive  words.  "It  is  useless  to  discuss  that  matter. 
It  is  settled.  I  bade  her  leave  the  house — for  Harry's 
sake.  Has  she  not  gone?" 

"You  turned  her  away  with  neither  friends  nor 
money!" 

"Don't  worry  about  her.  She  is  quite  capable  of 
taking  care  of  herself.  I  gave  her  three  months' 
wages." 

With  that  she  left  the  room. 

He  had  accomplished  very  little.  He  gave  up 
thought  of  doing,  alone,  what  he  wished  to  do  with 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       229 

her.  He  clearly  saw  that  he  must  have  outside  assist 
ance.  Her  unruffled  calm,  her  way  of  failing  utterly 
to  see  an  inch  beyond  the  routine  of  their  lives'  con 
ventionality,  rendered  him  helpless. 

Thoughtfully  he  went  into  the  hall  where  the  tele 
phone  was  fastened  to  the  wall. 

"Is  that  you,  Alston?"  he  inquired  when  he  had 
the  connection  which  he  asked  for.  "Well,  wait  for 
me.  I'm  coming  down  to  see  you." 

"Barbie,"  he  called  after  he  had  left  the  telephone, 
"if  anyone  asks  for  me  here  tell  them  that  I've  gone 
to  Mr.  Alston's  office  and  shall  be  engaged  there  all 
the  balance  of  the  day.  I  may  not  be  at  home  this 
evening,  and  very  likely  not  to-night.  Tell  Mrs.  Hoff 
man  not  to  look  for  me  at  dinner." 

Barbie  gazed  after  him  with  troubled  face.  In  his 
absorption  he  had  spoken  almost  kindly  to  her,  which, 
after  the  preceding  months,  was  so  unusual  as  to 
almost  be  a  really  bad  sign.  And  the  events  which 
had  accompanied  the  departure  of  Bettina  had  filled 
her  with  worry.  From  the  kitchen  window,  to  which, 
with  a  sense  of  triumph,  she  had  flown  to  make  sure 
that  the  girl  was  on  her  way  out  of  the  house,  she 
had  seen  him  standing  by  the  auto  while  they  waited 
for  the  man  to  go  and  get  the  robe.  Her  imagination 
did  not  soar  so  wildly  as  to  dream  of  the  tremendous 
cataclysm  really  impending,  but  a  mysterious  instinct 
made  her  worry. 

"A  storm  is  coming,"  she  assured  herself,  and 
shivered.  "I  feel  it  in  my  bones." 

"Alston,"    said    Hoffman,    as    he    went    into    the 


230       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

lawyer's  office,  "I  have  something  of  importance  to 
talk  over  with  you." 

"What?    The  Nelson  case?" 

"No;  something  of  far  more  importance  than  the 
Nelson  case." 

"Whew !  It  must  be  big  then !  You've  been  pretty 
keen  on  that!  Will  it  take  long?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Then  I'll  tell  them  in  the  outside  office  that  we're 
not  to  be  disturbed."  He  rose  and  left  the  room. 
Returning,  he  sank  into  his  big  desk  chair,  whirling 
to  Hoffman  with  a  smile.  "Fred,  you're  looking  fine. 
Really  splendid.  Sort  of  rejuvenated  lately." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Word  of  honor.  Dressing  better,  too.  Everybody 
getting  on  all  right  at  home  ?" 

"Of  course." 

"That's  the  main  thing.  Well  what  can  I  do  for 
you?" 

It  was  difficult  to  put  the  case,  almost  as  difficult 
with  Alston  as  he  had  thought  it  would  be  with  Anna. 
But  he  knew  that  Alston  could  not  utterly  defeat  him, 
as  she  had. 

"Alston,"  he  said  at  length,  "after  a  great  deal  of 
thought,  I  have  come  to  a  very  important  conclusion." 

The  attorney  smiled  at  him.  "Ah,  I  see !  You  want 
to  make  your  will.  That's  right,  Fred." 

Hoffman  shook  his  head.  "That's  not  it"  He 
paused,  considering,  for  a  long  minute,  while  Alston 
looked  at  him  with  good-natured  curiosity.  "You 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

know  my  past  life,  my  character.  You  will,  I  am  sure, 
judge  me  fairly." 

Now  Alston  ceased  his  smiling.  It  was  plain  that 
heavy  matters  were  impending.  "Fred,  you  seem  to 
have  something  on  your  conscience.  What's  trou 
bling  you?  You  know  a  lawyer  is,  so  to  speak, 
also  a  father  confessor — and  equally  as  discreet." 

"The  matter,"  said  his  client,  "is  of  a  very  delicate 
nature." 

Alston  was  surprised,  but  showed  no  advance  dis 
approval.  He  knew  men.  "Ah,  a  little  affair?" 

"No — matrimony." 

"Harry?" 

"No." 

"Beatrice?" 

"No,  Alston.  Don't  make  it  hard  for  me !  I — I — • 
want  to  marry." 

The  lawyer  smiled.  "Since  when  did  you  become 
a  Mormon?  This  is  a  far-fetched  joke.  Give  me 
the  diagram." 

That  Hoffman  was  not  joking  his  face  showed.  "I 
am  in  dead  earnest." 

Still  Alston  was  not  impressed.  Either  he  had 
quite  misunderstood,  or  it  must  be  a  joke — unless  his 
friend  were  suddenly  delirious.  "Let  me  feel  your 
pulse."  He  leaned  forward,  still  more  puzzled,  but 
still  smiling. 

Hoffman  almost  angrily  drew  back  the  hand  the 
lawyer  would  have  taken  in  his  jest.  "I'm  not  in 
the  mood  for  joking." 


234       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

as  evidence  for  later  use;  but  all  the  time  another 
portion  of  his  mind  was  busy — tragically  busy — with 
the  situation  which  his  old  friend  had  laid  before  him. 
He  could  not  believe  it,  yet  he  knew  that  Hoffman 
was  neither  drunk  nor  crazy;  it  was  too  horrid  to  be 
true,  yet  it  was  true.  Fred,  whom  he  loved,  was 
firmly  fixed  upon  this  dreadful  action;  Anna,  whom 
he  loved  and  had  loved  for  so  many  years  that  he 
could  not  remember  when  he  had  not  loved  her,  was 
about  to  be  subjected  to  a  shock  which  might  well  kill 
her. 

"Fred,"  he  said,  at  length,  turning  back  to  face  his 
visitor,  "you  are  about  to  make  a  great  mistake.  A 
better  woman  than  your  wife  you  will  never  find. 
Would  you  really  bring  such  sorrow  upon  her  and  on 
your  children?" 

Hoffman  stirred  uneasily  in  the  great  leather  chair 
in  which  he  rested,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Think  it  over,"  Alston  urged.  "Can  the  prize  be 
worth  the  sacrifice?" 

Still  Hoffmain  remained  silent. 

"May  I  ask  who  is " 

"You  know  her,"  Hoffman  answered.  "Miss 
Curtis." 

Alston  started  back,  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  This 
was  incredible!  That  this  man,  his  old  friend,  should 
forsake  Anna — Anna! — for  that  girl!  It  was  too  ter 
rible.  "A-h-h!" 

He  looked  at  Hoffman  with  a  nodding  head.  The 
whole  miserable  truth  flashed  through  his  mind.  He 
knew  what  had  ensnared  the  man — the  pretty,  pas- 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE       235 

sionate  face,  with  its  full  lips  which  promised  luscious 
kisses,  the  graceful,  softly  rounded  body,  with  its  lan 
guorous  arms,  which  promised  rich  embraces,  the  vital 
ity  of  not  high-minded  youth,  which  promised  full 
amusement,  with  no  pause  for  thought. 

"Fred,  I've  got  to  have  a  little  time  to  think  it 
over." 

"But " 

"No;  I'll  come  to  your  house  this  evening." 

"But  Anna  will  be " 

"No ;  she'll  be  at  prayer-meeting — praying  for  you, 
Fred,  probably!" 

"Alston " 

"I  won't  say  another  word  about  it  till  I've  had  a 
chance  to  think  it  over." 

The  meeting  at  the  house,  that  evening,  was  as 
between  armed  men,  manceuvering  for  an  advantage. 
It  was  not  until  they  were  seated  at  the  library  table, 
after  Hoffman  had  made  sure  that  no  one  could 
overhear  the  talk  which  was  to  come,  that  the  sub 
ject  which  was  seething  in  the  mind  of  each  of  them 
was  brought  up. 

"Well,"  said  Hoffman,  "what  have  you  decided?" 

Alston,  with  shaking  head,  sat  a  long  moment  look 
ing  earnestly  at  his  old  friend.  He  leaned  forward 
with  intense,  impetuous  earnestness.  "Fred,  for 
God's  sake!  This  is  a  matter  about  which  I  feel 
keenly.  My  very  deep  affection  for  you — for  your 
family " 

Hoffman  interrupted  him  with  a  sharp  protest.  It 
was  the  first  exhibition  of  his  habitual  brusque  queru- 


236       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

lousness  he  had  given  since  he  had  come  into  the  office. 
Shame  was  losing  the  strong  upper  hand  which  it 
had  had  with  him,  at  first ;  he  was  becoming  dominant 
again,  aggressive:  "I  have  considered  everything. 
Nothing  can  change  my  determination." 

"And  you  are  so  dazzled — or  so  selfish — that  you 
would  disgrace  yourself — your  wife — your  children — 
before  all  the  world?" 

"I  care  nothing,"  said  the  man  of  iron — for  he  was, 
again,  the  man  of  iron,  now:  neither  the  man  of 
putty  which  Bettina  had  made  of  him,  nor  the  apolo 
getic  man  which  he  had  been  that  afternoon,  when  he 
had  first  come  in — "for  the  opinion  of  the  world." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do !"  cried  Alston.  "We  all  do.  No 
matter  how  we  boast  of  our  indifference  to  public 
opinion,  we  squirm  and  twist  when  the  ugly  breath 
of  scandal  touches  us!  You  must  know,  as  well  as 
I,  what  the  world  thinks  of  a  man  who  repudiates  the 
wife  who  has  stood  by  him  through  his  early  struggles, 
who  has  become  the  mother  of  his  children!" 

Sullenly  Hoffman  shook  his  head. 

"Fred,  I  don't  know  what  I  ought  to  say ;  but  I  have 
the  clearest  notion  of  what  I  feel." 

"Your  eloquence  is  wasted,"  his  client  declared 
earnestly.  "My  mind  is  quite  made  up."  He  glared 
at  Alston  with  his  fierce  look  of  decision  in  the  face 
of  opposition.  "My  wife  is  a  sensible  woman.  She 
will  not  deny  me  happiness.  She  will  consent,  I'm 
sure." 

Alston  threw  his  hands  up  in  despair. 

"For  a  long  time,"  Hoffman  went  on,  slowly,  "we 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       237 

have  lived  together  only  as  friends.  We  can  remain 
friends." 

"Man " 

"It  is  for  the  best,  I  tell  you,  it  is  fate." 

"Fate!  Fate!"  cried  Alston,  with  contempt.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  /  think  it  is — it  is  the  case  of  a  fine  prin 
cipled  man  turned  into  a  selfish  brute  by  a " 

Hoffman  rose  with  a  black  face.  "Alston!  That's 
enough !" 

"Forgive  me,"  said  the  lawyer,  "if  I  speak  strongly, 
for  I  must." 

Hoffman  made  an  angry  gesture. 

"I  want  no  man's  friendship,"  said  the  lawyer,  and 
his  voice  rose,  "at  the  expense  of  integrity  and  truth." 

"Alston!"    Hoffman  really  was  frightened. 

"Yes;  the  truth!"  said  Alston,  loudly. 

Again  he  went  and  stood  by  the  window,  but  this 
time  was  utterly  unconscious  of  what  appeared  before 
him.  Hoffman,  meantime,  pale  and  furtive-eyed,  but 
not  at  all  dissuaded,  sat  waiting  somewhat  dully.  Of 
course,  if  Alston  would  not  take  the  case — why,  there 
were  other  lawyers. 

"I  know,"  Alston  began,  again.  "Husbands  never 
want  to  hear  the  truth  .  .  .  neither  from  their  wives 
nor  from  their  lawyers.  How  absurd!  How  cruel! 
After  God  knows  how  many  years  of  married  life, 
they  suddenly  begin  to  wonder  why  their  wives  look 
dowdy.  They  begin  to  compare  them  with  other 
women.  Usually  it  is  a  comparison  made  wholly 
on  the  basis  of  good  looks,  which  mostly  mean  youth 
and  good  clothes.  The  husband  tires  of  seeing  his 


238       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

wife  look  like  a  frump,  although  he  never  made  ob 
jection  to  her  dressing  in  cheap  hand-me-downs  while 
he  was  piling  up  his  fortune.  The  man,  you  see,  has 
won  his  fight  for  money.  He  begins  to  wish  for 
those  things  money  buys — even  for  the  women  which 
it  buys!  She  .  .  .  the  wife  who  has  worked  with 
him,  and,  very  likely,  has  done  as  much  as  he  has  .  .  . 
often  more  ...  to  make  the  money  which  is  her  un 
doing,  now,  no  longer  pleases  his  exacting  eye.  She 
does  not  stack  up  in  his  mad  eyes  with  other  women, 
younger,  probably;  if  not  younger,  then  women  who 
have  not  been  forced  to  labor,  as  she  has  had  to  labor, 
to  assist  struggling  husbands.  He  begins  to  flirt  with 
some  doll-faced,  empty-headed  clothes-rack,  whose 
brains  are  worth  not  one-hundredth  part  as  much  as 
those  of  his  own  wife  .  .  .  and  next  comes  .  .  . 
what  ?  Divorce ! 

"My  God!"  He  spat  contemptuously,  as  if  the 
word  were  foul  upon  his  tongue.  "Well,  Fred, 
I've  had  many  cases  like  it  ...  but  I'll  not  take 
yours !" 


"I  won't  take  it  ...  because  I'm  fond  of  Anna  .  .'  . 
and  the  children  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  yourself." 

Hoffman  was  too  worried,  now,  to  flare.  He 
wished,  above  all  things,  to  have  Alston  do  this  work 
for  him.  None  other  could  so  save  his  face;  none 
save  the  children  from  so  much  of  the  inevitable  hor 
ror,  none  could  preserve  Anna  from  so  much  of  the 
unutterable  misery  which  he  knew  the  thing  would 
cause  her.  He  wished  her  to  be  saved  from  misery, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       239 

and  found  in  this  desire  a  little  cause  for  pride.  It 
seemed  to  him  to  be  magnanimous. 

"You  have  named  the  very  reasons  why  I  wish  to 
put  the  case  into  your  hands,"  he  urged.  "You  shall 
be  my  attorney  and  theirs,  too.  I'll  do  all  I  can  for 
her,  and  for  the  children.  I  promise  you  that  every 
thing  shall  be  arranged  as  you  suggest,  in  reason,  if 
you  will  only  help  me." 

Alston  shook  his  head. 

But  Hoffman  would  not  be  denied.  "Stand  by  me, 
Alston!  Believe  me  ...  my  heart  is  heavy  enough; 
but  I  cannot  do  otherwise.  Man,  I  want  to  live!  I 
have  never  known  actual  life.  Here  with  her  .  .  . 
sober  and  unresponsive  as  she  is  ...  I  should  wither 
...  I  should  prematurely  die !  For  years  I  have  but 
existed  .  .  .  miserably! 

"You  remember  New  Year's  Eve  ?  I  had  then  made 
up  my  mind  to  close  up  my  account  with  life,  so  far 
as  any  desire  went.  I  was  resigned.  But,  almost 
at  once  .  .  .  she  came  into  the  house  .  .  .  into  my 
life.  Alston,  it  is  Destiny!" 

Alston  looked  at  the  entranced  man  with  a  hopeless 
grimace.  What  could  he  do  with  such  a  case?  If  he 
did  not  do  as  was  requested,  some  other  lawyer  would, 
and  would  cause  Anna  untold  suffering.  It  would  be 
better,  after  all,  for  him  to  yield.  Anna  would  know, 
perfectly,  how  bitterly  he  had  protested.  And,  with 
out  his  help — ah,  what  an  ordeal  for  her  and  for  the 
children ! 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said  to  Hoffman,  "what's  the  use  of 
reasoning?"  He  smiled  strangely,  pityingly.  "You're 


240       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

in  love.  That,  in  itself,  is  a  sickness,  and,  considering 
the  age  of  the  patient,  I  am  afraid  the  case  is  hope 
less." 

He  then  spoke  tenderly. 

"My  dear  old  Fred!  I  wish  I  could  feel  that  this 
step  will  bring  you  happiness." 

Again  he  stood  in  silent,  saddened  contemplation  of 
him,  while  Fred  rose,  relieved  and  smiling. 

"Come  in  and  see  me  in  a  day  or  two.  Bring  all 
the  necessary  data.  Above  everything,  bring  me  your 
wife's  consent,  if  you  wish  me  to  assist  you.  I'll  see 
what  can  be  done,"  Alston  promised  sadly. 

Enormously  relieved,  Hoffman  accompanied  Als 
ton  to  the  door. 

"Think  it  over  once  more,  Fred,"  said  Alston 
gravely.  "It's  an  awful  thing  .  .  .  and  a  damned  stu 
pid  thing!  I  wish  you  would  give  the  case  to  some 
one  else  .  .  .  and  still " 

"Alston,  do  me  this  service.    I  beg  of  you !" 

"Well,  for  the  sake  of  our  friendship,  for  the  sake 
of  your  family " 

"Thank  you,"  Hoffman  exclaimed  earnestly.     "I 
rely  on  you." 
•  "And  what's  to  be  done  in  the  Nelson  case?" 

"Oh,  let  the  matter  drop.  I  prefer  to  remain  friends 
with  him." 

"I  advise  you  to  do  likewise  .  .  .  with  your  wife !" 

Frederick  Hoffman  slowly  shook  his  head  and  Als 
ton  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER  X 

From  Alston's  office  Hoffman  proceeded  to  the  fac 
tory,  where  he  amazed  Valentine  and  Harry  by  an 
nouncing,  without  hinting  at  his  destination,  that  he 
was  to  leave  the  city  very  soon  for  an  indefinite 
period.  Barbie  went  to  the  telephone  when  the  mes 
sage  came  that  father  and  son  would  be  away  for 
dinner,  owing  to  the  rush  of  work  which  this  necessi 
tated,  and  found  herself  much  puzzled  by  it.  Such 
a  thing  had  never  happened  in  the  past.  When,  at 
breakfast,  it  developed  that  only  Harry  had  come 
home  to  sleep,  she  was  more  puzzled.  Anna  accepted, 
with  a  greater  calm  than  the  old  servant's,  the  boy's 
troubled  explanation  that  his  father,  wishing  to  rise 
very  early,  had  stayed  at  the  hotel. 

"He  didn't  want  to  trouble  Barbie  to  get  up," 
said  he. 

"Huh!"  Barbie  commented.  "Never  happened  in 
this  house  before!" 

Harry,  himself,  found  a  new  worry  when  he 
reached  the  factory — strictly,  on  time,  that  morning 
— and  discovered  that  his  father  had  not  even  gone 
to  the  hotel,  but  had  been  at  his  desk  all  night,  whip 
ping  himself  awake  with  boiling  coffee,  brought  by 
one  of  the  night-shift,  from  a  small,  cheap  workman's 
restaurant  nearby.  He  had  been  poring  over  old 

241 


242       THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

accounts,  docketing  papers,  studying  plans,  and  mak 
ing  notes  on  correspondence,  as  if  his  absence  would 
entail  a  change  in  the  firm's  management. 

"Father!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  will  be  ill!  You'll 
work  yourself  to  death!" 

"My  son  won't,"  Hoffman  answered  grimly. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  there  came  a  lull  quite  un 
avoidable — it  was  early  afternoon,  and  Hoffman  had 
lunched  at  his  desk,  on  sandwiches — he  pushed  back 
his  chair  and  spoke  more  kindly  to  the  boy. 

"Harry,"  he  said,  slowly,  "you're  going  to  have 
a  chance  to  prove  exactly  what  is  in  you." 

"What  do  you  mean,  father?"  The  boy  was  defi 
nitely  frightened.  All  day  he  and  Valentine  had  ex 
changed  furtive,  inquiring  glances,  when  they  dared. 

"I  have  decided  to  give  you  every  opportunity  .  .  . 
a  free  hand,  here.  I'm  going  to  turn  the  business 
over  to  you  ...  to  you  and  Valentine,  under  Mr. 
Alston's  supervision  .  .  .  for  a  time.  I'm  going  to 
take  a  rest." 

As  he  spoke  his  eyes  were  sunken  in  deep,  shad 
owed  sockets,  his  face  was  white  and  pasty  from  his 
lack  of  sleep.  His  hand  was  steady  and  his  words 
came  smoothly,  but  his  voice  was  hoarse.  It  was 
not  harsh,  however,  as  he  went  on  with  his  explana 
tion — the  explanation  which  did  not  explain. 

"I've  built  up  a  fine  business  here.  It  has  made 
money.  I  have  accomplished  this  by  work  and  noth 
ing  but  work.  Night  and  day  I've  slaved  to  see  that 
everything  went  forward.  Day  and  night  I've 
watched  to  see  that  everything  went  well.  Your 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

mother  and  your  sister  and  yourself  have  been  the 
beneficiaries." 

There  seemed  almost  to  be  a  note  of  accusation  in 
this  final  statement — a  claim  that  he  had  made  tre 
mendous  sacrifices,  while  they,  continually,  had  de 
manded  more,  more,  more.  Nothing  could  be  farther 
from  the  fact,  but  it  was  specious  reasoning,  hard  to 
combat,  not  hard  to  fall  into. 

"But  hasn't  it  been  fun?"  the  boy  asked,  scarcely 
knowing  what  to  say. 

"It  has  been  a  fever,"  said  his  father.  "Effort 
unremitting,  strain  ever  unrelieved  .  .  .  work,  work, 
work,  from  opening  time  to  closing  time  .  .  .  and 
then,  at  home,  the  worry,  and  hard  thinking,  desper 
ate  scheming,  which  made  rest,  often,  quite  impossi 
ble.  All  this  I've  done  .  .  .  done  for  my 
wife " 

"For  mother,"  Harry  said,  involuntarily. 

"Done  for  my  wife,  my  daughter,  and  my  son. 
I  have  been  unremitting;  I  have  been  unselfish"  (he 
really  thought  he  had)  ;  "I  have  shown  mercy  to  all 
except  myself." 

"You've  worked  too  hard;  I've  often  said  so.  In 
these  days " 

"You  will  have  to  work  as  hard,"  said  Hoffman, 
raspingly.  "From  all  this  work  I  have  received,  as 
my  portion  of  the  proceeds,  my  food,  a  place  to  sleep, 
my  clothes  and  a  few  friends." 

"But,  father!  There  have  been  other  things! 
Mother — and  us  children!" 

"Anna  has  kept  my  house,  and  kept  it  well." 


244       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

The  boy  chilled  horribly  at  this  and  at  the  way  his 
father  said  it.  Indeed  it  so  alarmed  him  that  he 
could  not  make  a  protest.  To  hear  his  father  speak 
ing  of  his  mother  as  if  she  had  done  nothing  more 
than  keep  his  house! 

"You  and  Beatrice  have  meant  a  great  deal  to  me. 
I  loved  you  when  you  both  were  little  babies.  I  have 
always  loved  you.  I  have  tried  to  prove  it." 

Now  the  boy  was  touched,  but  he  remained  as 
speechless  as  he  had  in  face  of  the  indirect  indict 
ment  of  his  mother. 

There  was  a  dread  solemnity  about  this  episode 
which  awed  him.  He  could  not  remember  ever  hav 
ing  heard  his  father  express  love  for  him;  he  had 
often  been  affectionate  with  Beatrice,  but  not  with 
him.  Now,  suddenly,  he  saw  that  many  things  had 
evidenced  a  deep  affection. 

"You  have  proved  it,  dad."  He  choked  a  little  as 
he  spoke. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so  ...  About  things  which 
recently  have  happened  .  .  .  and  ...  of  things 
which  are  to  happen  .  .  .  you  will  know  more,  will 
understand  more  .  .  .  later." 

A  sense  of  dread  descended  on  the  boy.  "Which 
are  to  happen!"  What  could  that  mean? 

"Father  .  .  .  tell  me?"  he  implored. 

There  was  a  silent  pause  of  seconds.  During  it 
the  man's  unwonted  softness  vanished. 

"Attend  to  that  new  order  of  the  Brigman  Com 
pany  with  more  care  than  you  gave  the  Mathews 
order,"  he  said  gruffly — and  the  conversation  ended. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       245 

When  Harry  had  gone  from  the  room,  Hoffman 
pulled  the  telephone  across  his  desk  and  called  for 
Alston's  office. 

"Have  you  .  .  .  seen  Anna,  yet?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  going  now,"  said  Alston.    "Fred " 

"Let  me  know  when  you  get  back." 

The  interruption  was  abrupt,  brusque  and  intoler 
ant.  He  hung  up  the  receiver,  and,  within  a  minute, 
was  again  buried  in  the  detail  of  his  work, — the  trans 
fer  of  his  interests  to  his  wife,  with  Harry  acting  as 
the  general  manager  under  Alston's  supervision,  the 
winding  up  of  his  own  direct  connection  with 
the  firm.  Alston  would  be  able  to  consult 
with  him  and  so  things  would  go  well,  but  be 
yond  that  he  wished  to  leave  no  link  to  bind  him  to 
the  past. 

Alston  walked  to  the  red  brick  house  among  the 
evergreens.  His  car  was  waiting  at  his  office  door, 
but  he  had  no  wish  to  hasten  on  his  tragic  errand. 
Indeed,  even  his  footsteps  lagged.  His  eyes  saw 
nothing  of  the  streets  through  which  he  passed,  his 
heart  throbbed  as  it  had,  he  suddenly  remembered, 
when  he  had  been  a  schoolboy  and  had  been  upon 
the  way  to  take  an  ordered  thrashing. 

"Mr.  Alston,  where  is  Fred?"  said  Anna,  when 
she  came  into  the  library  to  greet  him. 

"At  the  factory,"  he  answered.  "I  have  just  left 
him." 

"Why  does  he  not  come  home?" 

He  hesitated.     "It  is  concerning  that  that  I  have 


346      THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

come  to  see  you,  Anna."  In  late  years  he  had  rarely 
used  her  first  name. 

This,  and  his  manner,  frightened  her.  "Tell 
me  .  .  .  what  is  happening?  Mr.  Alston,  what  is 
happening?"  she  asked. 

Her  placidity  had  not  entirely  gone;  a  lifelong 
habit  of  smooth  unexcitement  will  not  fall  into  hys 
teria  in  a  day,  or  in  a  week,  but  he  could  see  that  a 
furnace  in  tremendous  turmoil  seethed  underneath 
the  surface  calm. 

"It  is  what  I  have  come  here  to  tell  you,"  he  said 
sadly,  "and,  Anna,  please  believe  me  when  I  say 
to  you  that  never  in  my  life  has  any  duty  seemed  so 
tragic." 

"Tell  me,"  she  repeated,  still  repressed,  but  working 
at  a  fold  of  her  dress-skirt  with  nervous  fingers. 

"It  almost  seems  to  me  as  if  I  could  not  do  it," 
he  replied,  "and  yet  it  must  be  done.  Fred,  Anna  .  .  . 
oh,  Fred  is  not  ...  he  is  a  sick  man " 

"Sick?"    His  word  startled  her. 

"I  do  not  mean  in  body,  but  in  mind." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  Fred  is  ...  break 
ing "  Her  eyes  were  full  of  a  new  fright. 

"No;  I  still  fail  to  give  my  meaning.  He  is  not 
sick  in  body  or  in  mind,  but  .  .  .  sick  in  his  soul!" 

She  leaned  forward,  white,  puzzled,  speechless. 

"It  is  a  sickness,  Anna,  please  believe  me;  it  is  a 
sickness.  I  think  that  as  time  passes  he  will  find  a 
cure.  If  I  did  not  look  on  it  as  sickness,  if  I  did  not 
think  he  would  be  cured  of  it,  I  need  not  assure  you, 
Anna,  that  I  would  stand  before  him  and  denounce 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

him  in  such  words  as  I  have  never  used  to  any 
man!" 

Her  terror  palpably  increased. 

"You  must  understand  that  I  have  come  here  with 
reluctance  such  as  I  have  never  known  before;  that 
I  have  come  here,  dulled  by  horror  such  as  I  have 
never  felt  before;  that  I  have  come  here  on  an  errand 
which  I  would  perform  for  no  one  but  your  husband, 
and  that  in  the  world  there  is  no  house  which  I  would 
enter  on  an  errand  of  this  sort  less  willingly." 

"Mr.  Alston,"  she  said  weakly,  "exactly  what  have 
you  to  say  to  me?" 

"Anna,  Fred  believes  that  he  has  been  unhappy. 
The  mad  obsession  fills  his  mind  that  here  in  Belleville 
he  cannot  find  happiness;  and " 

"He  wants  to  move  away  from  Belleville?"  She 
was  surprised,  but  not  dismayed. 

"Yes;  he  wants  to  move  away  from  Belleville  .  .  . 
and  he  wants  to  go  ...  alone." 

"Without  taking  .  .  .  me?  Of  course,  Harry 
could  not  go  ...  Oh,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  have  not  the  heart  to  tell  you  what  I  mean, 
Anna;  my  tongue  fails  me;  literally  my  brain  reels 
at  the  task.  But,  in  advance,  I  must  assure  you  that 
I  have  talked  with  Fred  as  frankly  as  any  man  could 
talk  with  any  man,  that  I  have  used  my  last  powers 
of  persuasion,  that  I  have  given  up  the  task  .  .  .  de 
feated." 

She  was  breathless  as  she  listened. 

"Anna,  Fred  has  asked  me  to  come  here  to  see 
you  and  discuss  .  .  .  divorce." 


248       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Divorce?"  Even  now  she  did  not  sense  this  un 
believable,  this  undreamed-of  situation.  "Divorce!" 

He  bowed. 

"From  .  .  .  me?" 

Again  he  bowed. 

"But  .  .  .  why?" 

Slowly,  as  tenderly  as  possible,  he  gave  her  the 
reason. 

"You  mean  that  he  ...  Fred  .  .  .  loves  .  .  . 
her!  Bettina?  That  .  .  .  unfortunate  .  .  .  and 
silly  .  .  .  girl?" 

"To  think  he  does  is  now  a  detail  of  his  madness." 

"It  is  impossible." 

"It  is  impossible  .  .  .  but  it  is  true." 

"And  he  asks  me,  the  mother  of  his  children,  his 
companion  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
his  .  .  .  wife  ...  to  aid  him  and  abet  him  in  such 
wicked  folly?  No,  Mr.  Alston,  no!" 

"It  is  all  true,  unhappily." 

"And  does  he  think  I  would  so  wrong  my  children, 
so  demean  myself,  harm  him  so  terribly  as  to  accede 
to  this  insane  request?" 

Alston  looked  compassionately  into  her  suffering 
eyes,  wide  with  their  mingled  incredulity  and  wild  re 
volt. 

"Anna,  it  would  be  the  simplest  way,  the  best  way. 
You  know  Fred.  You  know  he  stops  at  nothing  when 
attempt  is  made  to  cross  him.  I — I  tremble  when  I 
think  of  what  he  might  do,  if  we  did  not  yield  to  him. 
I  am  sure  he  would  not  hesitate  at  open  scandal  .  .  .: 
and  we  must  think  about " 

"The  children,"  she  gasped,  weakly. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       249 

"Yes;  we  must  think  about  the  children;  and  we 
must  think  about  yourself.  I  have  tried  .  .  .  but,  I 
have  told  you,  and,  if  I  had  not  told  you,  you  would 
know  that  I  had  tried.  I  have  tried  and  I  have 
failed." 

She  had  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  to  stare  dully  into 
space  with  eyes  which  seemed  to  have  acquired  a 
sort  of  glaze  of  horror.  "Divorce!"  she  murmured 
thickly.  "Fred  .  .  .  and  I  ...  divorced!  Fred!  Fred 
and  .../...  oh  ...  God!" 

"It  is  a  nightmare,"  he  admitted. 

For  a  long  time  she  said  nothing,  did  not  move  a 
muscle,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  recall  himself  to  her 
attention.  She  was  evidently  trying  desperately  to 
djust  herself  to  this  incredible  development. 

"Mr.  Alston,"  she  said  dully,  after  a  full  quarter 
of  an  hour  had  passed,  "you  must  give  me  time  to 
think  about  this." 

"Of  course,  Anna." 

"Time  to  think  about  this." 

"When  shall  I  come  again?" 

"Time  to  think  about  this."  The  repetitions  were 
mechanical.  "Then  I  shall  send  for  you." 

Like  a  woman  walking  in  her  sleep  she  rose,  and, 
without  giving  him  another  glance,  glided  from  the 
room. 

It  was  as  if  a  ghost  walked.  Her  tall  form  was 
rigid  and  her  head  up,  while  her  eyes  stared  straight 
ahead ;  her  feet  found  the  way  by  instinct ;  there  was 
scarcely  any  movement  of  her  shoulders;  she  seemed 
to  progress  without  footsteps  slowly  from  the  room. 

When  Alston  went  into  the  hall  he  stepped  with 


250       THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

cautious  softness,  as  instinctive  as  precautions  against 
noise  are  in  a  house  of  death.  He  walked  with  head 
bowed,  reverently,  as  one  walks  in  a  sanctuary.  He 
saw  Barbie,  dusting  far  back  in  the  hall,  and  beck 
oned  to  her,  but,  quickly,  held  a  warning  finger  to 
his  lips,  as,  approaching,  she  would  have  spoken  to 
him. 

His  manner  terribly  alarmed  her.  "Mr.  Alston!" 
she  gasped  weakly.  "Mr.  Alston!  Is  anybody  .  .  . 
dead?" 

"No;  Barbie.  But  I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  mo 
ment."  His  voice  was  a  husky  whisper. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Alston  .  .  .  oh " 

"Careful!     Step  into  the  library." 

He  took  her  arm  and  drew  her  with  him  into  the 
dim  room. 

"You  must  be  very  gentle  with  your  mistress,  very 
thoughtful,  very  kind.  She  has  been  overtaken  by 
a  great  trouble — by  a  trouble  worse,  to  her,  far  worse, 
than  death  could  be." 

"Oh  ...  oh  ..." 

"Careful!  Remember  ...  we  must  think  of  her 
and  of  her  only.  No  one  else  is  of  importance,  for 
a  time." 

He  told  her,  very  simply,  what  the  shadow  was 
which  hung  above  that  house,  and  stilled  her  outcry 
when  she  learned  its  basic  fact  by  a  hand  literally 
held  upon  her  lips.  When  she  would  have  railed  at 
Hoffman  he  quieted  her  by  speaking  of  him,  as,  in 
deed  he  thought  of  him,  as  one  who  had  gone  mad 
and  merited  the  sad  consideration  which  we  give  to 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       251 

those  thus  smitten  by  the  gods.  When  she  began  to 
softly  sob  he  gently  placed  his  hand  upon  her  shoul 
der,  with: 

"Dear  Barbie — no;  you  must  not  even  weep!    Re 
member!    We  must  think  of  her,  alone." 
"Can't  a  body  even  cry?" 
"No;  it  would  but  add  to  her  distress." 
She  snuffled  bravely,  and,  with  a  tremendous  effort, 
choked  the  sobs  down  from  her  throat.     "All  .  .  . 
right,  Mr.  Alston." 

"That's  a  good  Barbie.  And  ...  be  good  to 
her!" 

"Mr.  Alston,  I'd  cut  off  my  legs  to  please  her." 
He  smiled.    "It  wouldn't  please  her,  Barbie.    Keep 
your  legs,   and  .  .  .  keep  your   wits.     Be   good  to 
her." 

With  Harry,  with  whom  he  took  a  walk,  in  near 
spring  woods,  after  office  hours  that  evening,  he  had 
the  hardest  time  of  all,  although  the  mental  strain 
of  telling  him  was  less,  of  course,  than  the  interview 
with  Anna  had  demanded. 

His  difficulties  with  the  youth  were  different.  The 
boy's  emotions  ran  a  frightful  gamut.  The  crisis  was 
made  doubly  terrible,  to  him,  because  of  his  own  feel 
ing  toward  Bettina.  He  had  believed  himself  to  be 
deeply,  truly,  and  unalterably  in  love  with  her.  He 
had  set  her  on  that  pedestal  which,  in  the  mind  of 
each  clean-spirited  youth,  stands  waiting  to  uphold 
the  figure  of  his  ideal  of  womanhood.  It  was  the 
first  of  his  illusions  to  be  shattered,  and  the  crash 
racked  him  terribly.  When  to  it  was  added  the  in- 


252       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

credible  horror  of  the  revelation  of  his  father's  plans, 
his  desertion  of  his  mother,  his  departure  from  their 
lives,  the  mental  burden  became  almost  more  than 
the  poor  youth  could  bear. 

At  first,  in  his  fierce  indignation,  he  wished  to  seek 
his  father  out,  denounce  him,  rend  him,  crush  him. 
"If  he's  done  that  to  mother — to  my  mother!"  he 
cried  violently,  "I'm  going  to  punish  him!  I  don't 
care  .  .  .  that  he's  my  father  won't  protect  him. 
Mr.  Alston,  I  am  going  to  kill  him!" 

"No,  you're  not,  dear  boy.  What  you're  going  to 
do  is  buckle  down  and  make  your  mother  proud  of 
you.  You're  all  she  has,  now,  mind  you!  You  and 
Beatrice,  at  any  rate.  You  wouldn't  make  her  trou 
bles  any  heavier  than  they  are  now,  would  you?" 

"God  knows  I  wouldn't!"  said  the  boy,  standing 
in  the  dim  grove,  staring  moodily  at  a  log,  half- 
sunken  in  the  ground  and  velvety  with  spring's  soft 
plush  of  tender  green. 

"Then  brace  up,  boy  .  .  .  and  be  a  man !  Re 
member  that  your  life  has  changed  as  wholly  as  if 
you  had  been  thrust  into  a  brand-new  world.  Why, 
Harry,  you're  the  man  of  the  house,  from  now  on! 
You  must  bear  the  new  responsibilities  with  tact,  with 
dignity,  with  industry,  with  sense." 

"I'll  try  to;  but " 

"The  'buts'  in  life  .  *  .  don't  waste  your 
thought  on  them.  Come  home,  now;  your  mother 
needs  you  near  her — needs  you  very  sorely,  Harry." 

"She'll  always  find  me  there!" 

"Fine!    Come  along!" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       253 

The  undefended  suit  against  Frederick  Hoffman 
shook  Belleville  to  its  deep  foundations.  Not  dur 
ing  the  decade  had  scandal  struck  so  high  in  the 
old,  conservative  community.  But  so  carefully  did 
Alston  handle  it,  with  such  adroitness  did  he  keep 
all  details  from  the  records,  with  such  skill  did  he 
seize  each  advantage  of  the  statute,  that  when  the 
suit  was  ended  and  the  decree  entered,  little,  really, 
had  been  told  to  satisfy  the  public  curiosity.  Anna 
Hoffman  had  sued  Frederick  Hoffman  for  divorce — 
and  won  her  suit. 

That  was  all  the  world  knew  of  it,  and  those  who 
chanced  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Anna — and  they  were 
not  many,  she  kept  in  a  seclusion  as  complete  as 
possible — gained  little  satisfaction  for  their  morbid 
curiosity  from  a  study  of  her  pale,  immobile  face. 
Beatrice  was  not  brought  home  from  school,  but 
as  soon  as  it  was  ended,  Alston  made  the  journey 
to  the  convent  to  break  the  news  to  her.  Harry  took 
his  tasks  up  bravely — and  the  world  wagged  almost 
as  before. 

On  the  afternoon  when  she  was  handed  the  de 
cree,  Anna  sat  alone  in  her  own  room,  which  had 
been  darkened  into  yellow  dusk  by  the  close  draw 
ing  of  the  shades.  She  held  the  folded  paper  in 
her  fingers,  but  did  not  open  it,  or  even  glance  at 
it.  Harry  rapped  upon  her  door  and  called  to  her, 
but  she  asked  him  to  go  downstairs  and  see  her  in 
the  morning.  Barbie  went  up  with  a  tray  of  dainty 
food,  her  old  face  drawn  with  agony,  her  hands 
tremulous,  her  footsteps  tottering;  and  Anna  did  not 


254       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

grieve  her  by  refusing  it,  but  asked  her  to  just  put 
it  down  and  leave  it;  she  would  taste  it,  perhaps, 
later. 

When  Barbie  entered  two  hours  later  it  remained 
untasted,  and  she  could  see  that  Anna  scarcely  knew 
that  she  was  there.  Mindful  of  Alston's  warning 
she  choked  back  her  sobs  and  took  the  tray  out 
softly. 

She  spent  the  night  before  her  mistress'  door, 
sometimes  walking  up  and  down  upon  soft  slippers, 
cat-like,  wringing  her  old  hands  in  a  dumb  grief, 
sometimes  seated  with  disconsolate,  drooping  shoul 
ders,  in  a  stiff  chair  which  she  had  softly  carried  to 
a  place  near  the  door.  It  was  just  at  dawn  when 
she  heard  Anna  stirring  and  was  instantly  alert  for 
she  knew  not  what  catastrophe.  She  dared  not  enter, 
but  she  listened  at  the  door. 

"Lord,  God  of  Hosts,"  she  heard.  "Ah  .  .  . 
why  hast  Thou  Forsaken  me?  Ah — why?  .  .  . 
Ah— why?" 

There  was  a  silence  long  and  hard  for  Barbie  to 
endure,  and  then  again  the  cry: 

"Lord,  God  of  Hosts,  ah,  why  hast  Thou  for 
saken  me?" 

Barbie  started,  frightened,  as  she  heard  a  soft  step 
near  her.  Looking  apprehensively  across  her  shoulder 
she  saw  Harry  wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  and  in 
his  slippers,  looking  pale  and  haggard. 

"What  is  it,  Barbie?"  the  boy  whispered.  "Is — 
is  anything  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  the  poor,  poor  soul!"  moaned  Barbie.     "The 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       255 

poor  soul!  Listen,  Mr.  Harry  .  .  .  she  is 
praying?" 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm  and  in  the  gray, 
chill  morning  they  stood  apprehensively,  eaves 
droppers  because  they  loved  the  sufferer  within. 

"Hearken  unto  the  voice  of  my  cry,  my  King  and 
my  God:  for  unto  thee  will  I  pray!  For  thou  art 
not  a  God  that  hath  pleasure  in  wickedness:  neither 
shall  evil  dwell  with  thee." 

"She's  reciting  from  the  Psalms,"  said  Barbie 
brokenly.  "God  give  her  comfort!" 

"Thou  hatest  all  workers  of  iniquity,"  they  heard 
in  the  strange,  wailing  voice  of  her  within,  and 
a  little  later,  in  an  agony  of  pleading:  "Be 
cause  of  mine  enemies  make  my  way  straight  before 
me!" 

"I  must  go  in  to  her,"  said  Harry. 

"Better  not!  No;  better  not,"  said  Barbie.  "Let 
her  fight  it  out  in  her  own  way.  We  have  to,  all  of 
us.  She's  getting  help  from  someone  stronger. 
Listen!" 

"Arise,  O  my  Lord;  save  me,  O  my  God.  .  .  . 
Hear  me  when  I  call,  O  God  of  my  righteousness. 
.  .  .  Have  mercy  upon  me  and  hear  my  prayer!" 
they  heard  the  weary,  heartsick  woman  wail,  her  voice 
a  groan  of  agony.  "Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Lord; 
consider  my  troubles.  .  .  .  How  long  wilt  Thou 
forget  me,  O  Lord?  Forever?  How  long  wilt  thou 
hide  thy  face  from  Me?  .  .  .  My  God,  my  God, 
why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?  Why  art  thou  so  far 
from  helping  me?  O  my  God,  I  cry  to  thee  in  the 


256       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

daytime  and  thou  hearest  me  not:  and  in  the  night 
season  thou  art  silent." 

"All  Psalms,"  said  Barbie.  "Every  word  is  from 
the  Psalms." 

For  half  an  hour  they  crouched  there,  listening  to 
this  crying  of  a  soul  in  torment,  unwilling  to  depart 
from  the  cry's  tragic  radius,  unwilling  to  invade  the 
sanctuary  of  the  sufferer's  grief.  At  length  the  voice 
was  weaker. 

"She's  tiring  out — poor  soul!"  Barbie  whispered  to 
him.  "Maybe  she  will  go  to  sleep." 

"Hush!"  said  Harry. 

"O  Lord,  my  strength  and  my  redeemer!  .  .  . 
O  Lord,  my  strength  and  my  redeemer!"  the  voice 
within  monotonously  repeated  many  times. 

After  that  there  was  a  long,  cold  silence  which 
frightened  Harry  dreadfully.  He  would  have  hur 
ried  in  to  break  it  had  not  Barbie  held  him  back  with : 
"Mr.  Harry,  maybe  she  is  getting  now  the  answer 
to  her  prayers."  And  presently  they  heard  the  weary 
woman's  voice  intoning: 

"The  Lord  is  in  his  holy  temple,  the  Lord's  throne 
is  in  Heaven,  his  eyes  behold  .  .  .  the  heavens 
declare  the  glory  of  God,  the  firmament  sheweth  his 
handiwork. " 

"Hear?  What  did  I  tell  you?"  Barbie  whispered, 
"The  peace  of  God  is  coming  to  her." 

Ten  minutes  later  in  a  different  voice  not  triumph 
ant,  but  no  longer  tragic;  not  without  its  solemn  sor 
row,  but  not  that  of  a  soul  in  torment  as  the  voice  had 
been  before,  they  heard  Anna  say: 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       25T 

"Have  mercy  upon  me,  O  Lord,  for  I  am  in 
trouble:  mine  eye  is  consumed  with  grief;  I  am  for 
gotten  ...  I  am  like  a  broken  vessel." 

"Poor  soul!"  murmured  Barbie.    "Oh,  poor  soul!'r 

Then,  twenty  minutes  later,  drowsily:  "The  Lord 
is  my  rock  and  my  fortress  .  .  .  my  deliverer; 
my  God  and  my  strength  in  which  I  will  trust;  He 
.  .  .  is  ...  my  buckler.  .  .  .  For  thou 
art  my  rock  .  .  .  and  my  fortress;  therefore 
.  .  .  for  thy  name's  sake,  lead  me  .  .  .. 
guide  me.  .  .  ." 

"He's  helping  her!"  said  Barbie  reverently. 

"Into  thy  hands  ...  I  commit  my  spirit,. 
O  Lord  God  ...  of  truth,"  they  heard  at  last 
• — and  then  no  more. 

When,  after  a  long  period  of  silence,  Barbie  softly 
entered,  Anna  was  asleep. 

"Go  to  bed  now,  Harry,"  she  said  softly,  as  she 
came  out  of  the  room.  "I've  covered  her  all  up. 
She  won't  take  cold.  I'll  wait  and  watch.  You  go 
to  bed  and  get  a  little  rest.  You've  got  your  day's 
work  now  to  do  each  day,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  XI 

Alston  was  called  away  from  Belleville  shortly 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  divorce,  rather  to  his  re 
lief,  for  the  strain  on  him  of  that  one  case  had 
been  far  greater  than  the  strain  of  any  dozen  he 
had  ever  tried  before. 

For  Anna's  sake  he  had  done  what  he  could  to 
keep  the  procedure  secret,  but  had  found  this  im 
possible,  and,  therefore,  to  her  agony  of  mind  over 
the  destruction  of  her  happiness  was  added  her  in 
credible  distress  at  sight  of  her  name — hers,  Anna 
Hoffman's! — blazoned  largely  in  the  public  prints  in 
connection  with  a  scandal.  The  press  in  these  United 
States  is  merciless,  and  it  did  not  fail  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  this  alienation  of  an  elderly  and  rich 
man's  fancy  by  a  young  and  pretty  wanderer. 

In  Belleville  itself,  where  through  her  good  works, 
Anna  had  become  generally  loved,  where  the  news 
papers  were  comparatively  small  and  slack  in  "enter 
prise,"  and  where,  especially,  Alston's  influence  was 
very  great,  not  so  very  much  was  printed;  but  the 
Buffalo  dailies  sent  their  special  correspondents  on 
the  first  day  of  the  trial,  and  upon  the  second  day 
two  men  and  a  woman  reached  Belleville  from 
New  York,  assigned  by  their  editors  to  get  all  the 
"human  interest"  they  could  from  the  unfortunate 

258 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       259 

affairs  of  this  "up-state  millionaire,"  his  old-fash 
ioned  wife  and  the  chic  and  clever,  if  unscrupulous, 
New  York  girl,  who  had  gone  there  as  a  companion 
and  gone  away  a  favorite  of  fortune. 

At  this  point  in  the  affair  Alston's  indignation  ran 
so  high  that  he  wrote  bitterly  to  Murfree,  reproach 
ing  him  for  having  told  him  good  things  of  a  girl 
who  had  been  capable  of  such  performances.  It  was 
long  after  the  divorce  suit  ended  before  he  had  an 
answer,  and  then  Murfree  discoursed  cynically,  deny 
ing  that  he  had,  as  Alston  had  implied,  misrepre 
sented  the  girl's  character.  He  insisted  that  she  was 
a  "good"  girl  in  the  one  sense  of  the  word  which 
is  accepted  in  such  matters,  but  that  the  fact  that 
she  was  emphatically  unconventional  had  been  plainly 
indicated  by  the  picture  of  her  which  he  had  pre 
sented  to  the  lawyer. 

This  utterly  astounded  Alston.  Picture  of  her! 
Murfree  had  given  him  one  picture  only  and  that  had 
been  the  one  which,  at  the  first  glance,  had  so  made 
him  shrink  that  he  had  thrust  it  deep  into  a  drawer 
and  never  looked  at  it  again.  Now,  with  reluctant 
fingers,  he  drew  it  from  its  hiding  place. 

To  the  sophisticated,  his  procedure,  after  he  had 
done  this,  might  have  seemed  amusing.  He  scarcely 
glanced  at  the  extremely  pretty  thing  until  the  lower 
four-fifths  of  the  panel  had  been  hidden  with  a  hand 
kerchief,  and  even  after  this  was  done,  he  held  his 
head,  as  he  glanced  downward,  almost  as  timorously 
as  if  he  had  been  really  afraid  the  little  picture  might 
spring  at  him  and  bite  him. 


260       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

But  when,  after  the  concealment  of  the  figure 
which  offended  him,  he  took  a  long  look  at  the  face, 
he  gasped.  It  was  Bettina's ! 

Ah,  why  had  he  not  looked  at  it  before?  Ah, 
why  had  he  not  looked  at  it  in  time?  Had  Fred 
known  this  surely  he  never  would  have 

For  one  moment  he  considered  the  advisability  of 
mailing  the  extremely  pretty,  but  to  him,  extremely 
shocking  thing,  to  Hoffman,  so  that  he  might  quite 
appreciate  the  treasure  for  whose  sake  he  had  made 
the  sacrifice  of  wife  and  children,  home  and  reputa 
tion;  but  this  impulse  passed. 

He  still  loved  Fred,  loved  him,  though  he  felt 
that  he  had  sinned  beyond  most  men.  If,  sometimes, 
when  he  sat  in  reverie  in  his  lonely  hotel  room,  he 
tried  to  find  excuses  for  his  erring  friend,  his  search 
was  due  to  what  he  knew  of  the  man's  youth  of 
unremitting  grind,  imposed  upon  him  by  a  father  who 
considered  work  the  only  honor,  money  the  only  gain, 
followed  by  the  sort  of  early  manhood  logical  to 
this — a  period  of  terrific  effort  from  which  every 
thing  not  laborious  was  barred  by  the  necessities  of 
the  increasing  business  which  had  become  his  heri 
tage  upon  his  father's  death.  And  then  he  thought 
of  Hoffman's  mother — a  gay  creature,  at  the  start, 
gradually  stunned  into  a  disappointed  maturity  of 
solemn  domesticity,  unnatural  to  her,  but  unescapa- 
ble.  Was  not  the  son,  with  his  two  eccentricities  of 
years  of  unremitting  toil,  followed  by  this  one,  tre 
mendous  escapade,  the  logical  outcome  of  this  an 
cestry  ? 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       261 

Occasionally  he  heard  from  him  in  queer,  strained 
correspondence  which,  endeavoring  to  be  light  and 
airy,  instead  was  little  less  than  tragic  to  the  shrewd 
eyes  of  the  lawyer.  The  letters  said  the  man  had 
found  fine  happiness  in  his  transplanting;  that  while 
the  rest  from  business  had  come  late  in  life,  it  still 
was  most  agreeable;  that  his  young  wife  had  shown 
him  many  details  of  the  lightsome  side  of  life  which 
he  had  scarcely  known  existed. 

These  matters  were  passed  over  briefly,  and, 
Alston  was  convinced,  referred  to  with  reluctance. 
The  balance  of  the  correspondence  always  dealt  with 
business,  making  inquiries  as  to  how  things  were 
progressing  in  the  Belleville  factory,  offering  sugges 
tions,  always  of  the  utmost  value  to  Harry,  Valen 
tine  and  himself,  and  closing  ever  with  a  brief  re 
quest  to  Alston  to  assure  his  son  when  he  should 
see  him,  and  his  daughter,  when  he  wrote  to  her, 
that  their  father  loved  them,  missed  them,  wished 
them  very  well.  The  letters  never  mentioned  Anna. 

At  first  the  lawyer  answered  these  communications 
tersely,  going  into  necessary  details  of  the  business, 
praising  Harry  when  he  could,  urging  the  advance 
of  Valentine,  telling  briefly  about  Beatrice,  her  needs 
and  progress,  and  adding  some  slight  gossip  of  the 
town,  to  make  his  writing  seem  less  formal  than, 
for  a  time,  he  felt  impelled  to  make  it.  Later,  when 
he  thought  he  read  between  the  lines  of  Hoffman's 
letters  real  anxiety,  when,  now  and  then,  a  word  or 
two  which  he  was  sure  had  crept  in  unawares,  seemed 
to  suggest  dissatisfaction  with  things  as  they  were 


262       THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

and  homesickness  for  the  old  era,  he  was  more  mer 
ciful,  and  went  into  details,  even  enclosing  the  chatty 
letters  Beatrice  often  wrote  to  him.  Once  he  re 
membered  and  dictated  to  a  stenographer  a  long 
extract  from  a  letter  she  had  written  to  her  mother 
and  which  Anna  had  permitted  him  to  see,  telling 
of  her  triumphs  in  her  school. 

Both  son  and  daughter  wrote  to  their  father  now 
and  then;  they  wished  to,  and  even  if  they  had  not, 
Anna  would  have  asked  it  of  them,  but  Alston 
shrewdly  guessed  their  letters  to  be  constrained  and 
labored — how  could  they  fail  to  be? — and  was  cer 
tain  Beatrice  had  said  but  little  in  them  of  her  nota 
ble  scholastic  victories. 

Thus  he  kept  up  a  fairly  brisk  correspondence 
with  the  exile;  he  had  by  no  means  lost  his  love  for 
him;  he  helped  to  train  his  son  into  a  clever  and 
devoted  business  man;  once,  during  the  first  long 
vacation  after  the  divorce,  he  tried  to  make  the  mud 
dled  matter  clear  to  Beatrice. 

But  he  never  went  to  see  Fred  when  he  went  to 
New  York  City,  never  even  notified  him  of  his  pres 
ence  there.  He  felt  that  he  could  not  endure  to 
see  Bettina,  feared  that  should  he  see  her  he  might 
say  something  offensive,  dreaded  lest  in  case  he 
calle.d  upon  his  friend  he  might  uncork  the  vials  of 
his  wrath  and  again  pour  out  upon  his  head  a  flood 
of  indignation.  That  would  be  foolish.  The  worst 
which  possibly  could  happen  had  happened.  Silence 
was  the  best  course  now. 

Anna  was  the  greatest  sufferer,  of  course,  although 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       263 

after  that  one  dreadful  night  not  even  Barbie  heard 
any  plaint  from  her.  But  for  many  months  her 
bodily  strength  so  suffered  that  she  could  not  go 
about,  and  when  that  had  been  remedied  she  found 
her  mental  strength  insufficient  to  permit  meetings 
with  old  friends.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  be  seen 
in  the  society  of  the  little  city  without  an  effort  so 
tremendous  that  it  would  bend  her  to  the  breaking 
point  and  time  did  not  remove  this  strong  reluctance. 
She  became  almost  a  recluse. 

Of  course  all  gossip  of  the  case  was  hushed  when 
she  was  near,  and  in  these  days  even  little  cities 
are  sufficiently  accustomed  to  sensations  to  grow 
quickly  tired  of  stale  ones;  but  even  at  a  year's 
end  she  found  herself  incapable  of  resuming  her 
old  activities  in  church  and  charity.  It  began 
to  seem  advisable  for  her  to  move  away  from 
Belleville,  and  Alston  started  on  a  search  for  a  new 
home  for  her,  finding  one  at  length  at  Stillfield, 
within  trolley  distance  of  the  factory,  but  far  enough 
away  to  offer  Anna  a  new  circle  of  neighbors,  a  new 
church.  It  was  with  real  difficulty  that  she  kept  her 
self  from  buying  mourning  clothes  before  she  went 
to  look  at  it. 

She  felt,  indeed,  that  Fred  had  died.  She  told 
herself  ten  thousand  times  that  the  real  Fred  had 
died.  She  was  saved  the  horror  which  would  have 
tortured  many  woman,  had  they  been  placed  as  she 
was,  of  trying  to  imagine  him  set  in  his  new  environ 
ment — the  continual  companion  of  the  girl  she  had 
dismissed,  making  new  friends,  learning  new  ele- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

fancies — for  her  imagination  halted,  baffled,  at  the 
effort  to  create  such  pictures.  She  could  only  think 
of  him  as  she  had  known  him,  and  as  the  months 
passed  she  only  thought  of  him  as  she  had  known 
him  in  those  years  before  irascibility  had  grown  into 
a  habit  with  him,  when  he  had  sometimes  been  the 
lover — as  he  had  been,  indeed,  when  the  children 
had  been  little. 

Thus  Anna  Hoffman  seemed  truly  to  be  widowed — 
seemed,  to  her  own  mind,  to  have  been  bereaved 
by  death.  And  the  little  city  tried  to  be  considerate. 
She  was  treated  as  a  widow  should  be  by  her  friends ; 
but  she  was  glad  to  get  away  from  it. 

The  first  year  changed  her  greatly  in  appearance, 
whitening  her  hair,  giving  her  face  the  age-trans 
parence  which  should  not  make  marked  it  for  an 
other  ten  or  fifteen  years,  making  her  a  little  feeble; 
but  this  did  not  increase.  Indeed,  the  second  year 
brought  some  recovery  of  strength,  and  after  this 
slight  gain,  she  reached  a  period  of  calm — the  calm  of 
resignation  sweetened  by  the  wish  to  make  her  chil 
dren  happy  and  assist  all  those  who  came  to  her  for 
lielp. 

Frederick  Hoffman  and  Bettina  had  taken  up  their 
residence  in  New  York  City,  where  they  had  been 
married  very  quietly  by  a  magistrate,  and  great  was 
the  rejoicing  thereat  in  the  Amsterdam  Avenue  flat. 
William,  the  bride's  brother,  declared  vulgarly  that 
the  family  at  last  had  found  an  "angel"  and  that 
he  hoped  Bettina  would  not  be  a  "tight-wad."  She 
was  not.  Penuriousness  formed  no  part  of  her  deal- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       265 

ing  with  her  family — or  with  herself.  "For  rent" 
signs  soon  appeared  in  the  flat  windows  and  were 
taken  down  from  windows  in  a  more  expensive 
domicile  which  overlooked  the  Park,  the  little  sister 
was  sent  straightway  to  a  "College  of  Dramatic  Art;" 
Bettina  paid  her  brother's  gambling  debts  and  started 
him  upon  a  fresh  career  of  gaming,  dressed  in  new 
and  very  gorgeous  clothing!  Mamma  Curtis  was 
arrayed  as  never  were  the  lilies  of  the  field,  and 
ceased  the  little  toiling  which  had  previously  been 
forced  upon  her. 

Nor  were  blood  relations  the  only  beneficiaries  of 
Bettina's  advantageous  marriage.  Her  stepfather 
was  packed  off  to  a  sanitarium  where  he  was  urged 
to  give  up  alcohol,  but  permitted  to  absorb  enough 
to  keep  the  habit  fastened  on  him — for  Frederick 
Hoffman's  wife  paid  his  bills  promptly,  although  she 
shrewdly  made  it  understood  that  they  must  not  be 
large.  Generous  as  Hoffman  was,  she  found  it  easily 
possible  to  outstrip  his  generosity  with  her  expendi 
tures  on  clothes  and  other  of  the  new  extravagancies 
which  she  quickly  learned  to  crave.  Of  her  bene 
ficiaries,  last  but  by  no  means  least,  Mr.  Theodore 
Sevigny,  engaged  to  instruct  Bettina  in  the  higher 
branches  of  the  musical  art,  not  only  found  much 
profit  through  this,  which  enabled  him  to  bloom  forth 
in  highly-tailored  raiment  and  to  change  his  address, 
but  was  supplied  with  plausible  excuses  for  frequent 
visits  to  the  Hoffman  menage. 

That  these  visits  were,  for  the  most  part,  at  hours 
when  Frederick  was  not  at  home,  was,  Bettina  care- 


266      THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

fully  explained  to  her  husband,  the  fine  result  of  her 
unselfishness.  She  was  sure  the  noise  of  music- 
lessons  would  annoy  him.  When  he  expressed  some 
doubts  of  this,  she  bade  him  test  one  of  these  periods 
of  efforts  and  he  did  so. 

He  never  afterward  expressed  the  slightest  wish 
to  make  a  third  member  of  the  party  when  Bettina 
and  her  music  master  were  engaged  on  her  harmonic 
education.  She  had  hinted  carefully  to  Theodore, 
and  with  him  had  risen  to  the  occasion.  The  young 
maestro's  frenzied  criticism  of  her,  his  wild  protests 
when  he  claimed  she  had  sung  flat,  played  sharp  or 
erred  otherwise,  drove  Hoffman  to  the  verge  of  mad 
ness,  impelled  him  from  the  flat  at  a  high  speed,  con 
vinced  him  that  Sevigny  only  little  less  than  loathed 
Bettina  and  was  animated  by  none  but  mercenary 
motives  when  he  tendered  her  his  services.  He  was 
partly  right.  Sevigny  certainly  was  mercenary,  but 
other  impulses  stirred  in  him  when  his  eyes  rested  on 
Bettina. 

It  is  said  that  New  York  City,  of  all  places  in 
the  world,  is  the  hardest  to  make  friends  in.  It  is 
the  easiest  in  which  to  make  acquaintances.  If  they 
have  cleverness,  newcomers  may  select,  according  to 
their  varying  tastes,  approximately  that  set  with 
which  they  wish  to  foregather,  provided  always  that 
they  are  in  funds.  If  they  cannot  enter  the  real  set 
to  which  their  aspirations  point,  they  can  quickly  find 
an  imitation  of  it  shrewd  enough  to  baffle  all  but 
expert  eyes,  and  Hoffman's  eyes  were  not  expert. 

His  wife  quickly  built  a  life  for  them  which  dined 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       267 

them  in  the  most  expensive  restaurants,  and  there 
found  acquaintances  to  bow  to  (and  buy  dinners 
for),  which  gave  them  guests  for  their  elaborate 
house  affairs  and  got  them  invitations  to  affairs  of 
other  people  in  like  case  and  quite  as  gaudy,  which 
made  the  keeping  of  two  motors  a  necessity,  which 
furnished  well-dressed  men  and  women  in  profusion 
for  card-parties,  at  which  the  wines  and  the  cigars 
and  cigarettes  were  fine  and  plentiful,  and  at  which, 
upon  occasion,  the  host  and  hostess  gracefully  lost 
money. 

It  was  an  enormous  change  for  Hoffman,  and  at 
first  he  liked  it,  for  it  was  a  whirl.  A  whirl,  a  very 
rapid  whirl,  was  necessary  for  his  own  distraction 
from  consideration  of  the  past,  far  and  immediate. 

But  he  soon  discovered  this  mad  pursuit  of  pleasure 
to  be  by  no  means  a  light  thing;  that  the  obligations 
of  the  "idle  rich"  (especially  their  obligation  to  their 
young  and  handsome  wives)  may  become  as  onerous 
as  any  work  the  human  mind  has  ever  planned  for 
human  energy  to  do;  that  pleasure  may  become  an 
effort,  gaiety  a  task.  The  hardest  task  of  all,  he 
found,  is  idleness. 

He  had  been  six  months  Bettina's  husband  before 
he  learned  to  lie  abed  of  mornings,  whether  or  not 
the  night  before  had  been  extended  into  the  small 
hours;  he  had  been  her  husband  close  upon  a  year 
before  he  was  quite  reconciled  to  the  vast  wardrobe 
she  required  of  him;  and  calmness  'neath  the  touch 
of  manicures,  habituation  to  the  semi-daily  shave, 
subjection  to  a  valet  were  great  trials. 


268       THE   MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

But  her  bright  eyes  shone  for  him,  her  chattering 
tongue  flattered  him,  her  young  arms  held  him  close 
when  he  had  been  unusually  generous  of  funds  or 
satisfying  actions,  the  whole  thing  was  novel,  so  he 
urged  and  half -convinced  himself  that,  finally,  he 
was  enjoying  life. 

Nevertheless  it  was  with  a  thrill  of  almost  boyish 
joy  that  he  heard  Alston's  voice  one  morning.  His 
old  friend  and  lawyer  was  inquiring  for  him  in  the 
thin  hall  which  strung  along  the  side  of  the  high- 
priced  apartment.  Up  to  that  moment  he  had  been 
extremely  sleepy ;  the  night  before  had  marked  a  new 
notch  in  Bettina's  social  progress,  and  the  gaieties 
had  continued  until  very  late.  And  after  the  de 
parture  of  the  guests  it  had  required  much  petting 
by  Bettina  to  put  him  in  good  humor,  for  at  one  point 
in  the  evening,  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  the  func 
tion  had  been  cleverly  designed  to  thrust  the  merits 
of  an  opera  composed  by  Theodore  Sevigny  into  the 
attention  of  those  influential  in  such  matters,  and  he 
did  not  like  Sevigny. 

Almost  as  soon  as  he  had  married,  this  man  had 
appeared  on  his  horizon;  he  had  been  coming  nearer 
ever  since.  His  hair  offended  him  and  his  manner 
racked  his  nerves;  but  he  had  been  glad  enough  to 
have  Bettina  study  music  with  him — she  had  assured 
him  that  Sevigny  was  a  notable  maestro  and  he  had 
no  means  of  knowing  otherwise — for  it  seemed  to 
entertain  her,  and  very  early  in  their  matrimonial 
career  he  had  learned  that  she  required  much  enter 
tainment. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       269 

But  Sevigny  later  had  grown  to  be  among  the 
chiefest  of  his  worries,  of  which  the  others  were  all 
members  of  his  young  wife's  family — three  of  them 
— each  at  times  more  worrisome  than  all  the  rest, 
and  all  at  times  most  worrisome.  He  had  almost 
rebelled  when  it  had  been  decided  that  Mamma  Cur 
tis  was  to  live  with  them,  but  Bettina's  wrath  had 
cowed  him. 

In  the  past  he  had  had  slight  experience  with 
women's  wrath.  During  his  life  with  Anna  wrath, 
had  been  his  own  monopoly.  He  had  flared  at  every 
one  from  time  to  time;  no  one  had  ever  flared  at 
him.  Now  it  was  far  otherwise.  Very  early  in  his 
second  married  life  he  had  learned  the  foolishness 
of  flaring  at  Bettina.  She  did  not  take  it  nicely. 
The  pathos  of  the  poor,  helpless  girl,  whom  he  had 
so  forcefully  defended  against  Anna,  had  wholly 
disappeared.  He  had  tried,  one  day,  to  understand 
this,  and  suddenly,  in  response  to  his  slow  search 
for  an  explanation,  he  had  found  the  true  one.  She 
was  no  longer  poor  and  helpless!  But  it  surprised 
him  somewhat,  and  very  much  distressed  him  to 
observe  that  he,  the  very  person  who  had  rescued 
her  from  those  conditions,  was  the  very  person  who 
most  suffered  through  her  metamorphosis. 

Yes;  it  would  be  a  definite  delight  to  see  old 
Alston;  yet  he  half -dreaded  meeting  him,  for  he  had 
a  tendency  to  feel  uncomfortable  when  he  encountered 
anyone  who  knew  of  his  old  life  in  Belleville  and 
the  woman  he  had  left  behind  there;  but  it  had  been 
Alston  who  had  put  the  divorce  through — under 


270       THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

pressure,  it  is  true,  but  still  he  had  put  it  through — • 
and  so  he  could  not  think  of  him  as  entirely  a  critic.: 
He  hurried  in  his  dressing,  mumbling  fierce  words 
as  he  did  so,  for  his  room  was  cluttered  with  un 
usual  furniture.  The  greater  number  of  the  smaller 
pieces  which  would  have  obstructed  the  previous 
night's  crush  in  the  drawing-room,  had  been  thrust 
into  his  chamber.  In  consequence,  it  was  with  diffi 
culty  that  he  found  his  clothes. 

He  managed,  with  a  patent  safety-razor,  to  ac 
complish  a  quick  shave,  but  he  could  not  get  in  range 
of  his  small  shaving  mirror  without  climbing  over 
a  fauteuil  and  several  gilt  chairs,  so  he  grasped  his 
bottle  of  Florida  water  in  one  hand  and  his  little 
vial  of  brilliantine  in  the  other,  deciding  to  go  out 
to  Alston  as  he  was.  He  could  use  them  before  one 
of  the  mirrors  in  the  ornate  room  beyond  after  he 
had  greeted  his  old  friend. 

He  was  really  surprised  to  find  with  what  a  thrill 
of  joy  the  mere  sound  of  the  lawyer's  voice  had 
filled  him.  Dear  old  Alston!  He  had  missed  him, 
perhaps  more  than  any  other  of  the  details  of  his 
Belleville  life  except  the  children,  and  there  had  been 
many  others  which  left  astonishingly  painful  voids 
in  his  heart. 

"Why,  Alston!  I'll  be  right  with  you,"  he  called 
through  the  door,  after  he  had  heard  the  maid  explain 
to  him  that  Mr.  Hoffman  could  see  no  one,  being 
still  asleep;  had  heard  Alston's  mild  expression  of 
surprise  that  this  should  be  the  case  at  eleven  a.  m., 
and  had  heard  the  maid  explain,  ill-naturedly,  that 


THE   MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       271 

merriment  had  reigned  the  night  before  until  after 
three.  Confound  that  maid!  He'd  like  to  send  her 
packing — but  Bettina — well,  he  had  learned  better 
than  to  interfere  in  such  affairs! 

"Don't  hurry  on  my  account,"  said  Alston.  "I've 
got  loads  of  time." 

In  the  meantime  Alston  was  left  quite  alone.  A 
sharp  voice  which  he  recognized  as  Bettina's  called 
the  maid  into  another  room.  He  could  not  fail  to 
hear  the  colloquy  ensuing,  and  it  enlightened  him. 
He  had  expected  such  enlightenment,  soon  or  late. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  when  I  ring?"  the  voice 
said  ill-naturedly. 

"I  was  busy,  Madame,"  was  the  maid's  reply,  and 
it  was  uttered  without  much  respect,  he  thought. 

"Get  my  bath  ready,  and  I'll  wear  my  pink  negligee. 
.  .  .  Stupid!" 

"Very  well,  Madame." 

"Idiot!" 

Alston  smiled  unhappily  and  looked  about  the 
room. 

"You'll  find  cigars  on  my  desk,  Alston,"  Hoffman 
called  to  him.  But  when  he  looked  into  the  desk 
nothing  but  an  empty  box  was  there. 

He  looked  about  him  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity. 
It  was  eleven  in  the  morning,  yet  the  room  had  not 
been  straightened  after  the  night's  festivities.  A 
champagne  cooler  stood  under  the  piano  with  an 
empty  bottle  in  it;  in  one  of  the  chairs  a  dainty, 
much  be-ruffled  woman's  under  petticoat  had  been 
cast  carelessly. 


272       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Guess  I  won't  smoke,"  he  thought  somewhat  rue 
fully,  for  he  had  forgotten  to  refill  his  case  that 
morning.  "They  must  have  had  a  busy  night  herel 
Fred  evidently  is  enjoying  life  as  he  could  not  in 
Belleville!"  He  did  not  think  of  this  as  very  much 
to  Fred's  advantage — from  the  looks  of  things,  or 
from  the  tones  of  the  new  Mrs.  Hoffman's  voice. 
He  was  wondering  if  this  sort  of  thing  could  be 
agreeable  to  his  friend  when  his  reflections  were  cut 
short  by  the  entrance  of  that  friend  himself. 

He  wore  a  house-coat  of  embroidered  plush,  his 
trousers  were  immaculately  creased;  in  his  left  hand 
he  bore  two  vials,  one  small,  one  larger,  and  it  was 
from  them  that  the  odor  which  reminded  Alston  of  a 
high-class  barber-shop  emanated. 

"How  are  you?  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!"  cried 
Hoffman  cordially.  "So  you've  come  to  see  me  at 
last!  That's  very  nice  of  you." 

Alston  smiled  at  him  and  watched  him  as  he  placed 
the  bottles  on  a  little  table,  beginning  instantly  to  use 
their  contents.  The  odor  of  the  high-class  barber 
shop  became  intense. 

"You  don't  mind  my  finishing  here?"  said  Hoff 
man. 

"Not  at  all,  but  I  could  just  as  well  have  gone 
into  your  room  with  you." 

"No;  we  couldn't  do  it.  It's  in  an  awful  state." 
He  explained  that  it  had  been  in  use  as  coat-room, 
and  was  crowded  with  shelves  and  hat-racks. 

"Your  room!"  Alston  was  astonished.  In  the  old 
days  it  had  never  been  the  master  of  the  house  who 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       273 

suffered  inconveniences  of  that  sort.  But  he  tried 
not  to  seem  surprised.  "Oh,"  he  responded  care 
lessly,  "I  see." 

For  five  minutes  then  they  talked  somewhat  con 
strainedly.  Neither  was  particularly  comfortable; 
each  was  very  glad  to  see  the  other;  but  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  find  a  common  ground  for  conversation  which 
would  certainly  be  safe.  Finally : 

"Well,  Alston,  what  brings  you  here?" 

"Oh,  business  partly,"  said  the  lawyer,  "but  most 
of  all  an  irresistible  desire  to  see  you  again,  old  man; 
to  hear  from  your  own  lips  that  you're  enjoying  your 
newly- found  happiness." 

Hoffman  was  not  quite  at  ease.  "That's  very  nice 
of  you." 

"Judging  from  appearances,"  said  Alston  gaily 
with  a  glance  about  the  room,  "you're  having  the  time 
of  your  life."  Then  he  looked  at  him  as  he  stood 
before  a  mirror,  working  with  his  bottles.  "And 
there's  an  atmosphere  of  youth  about  you  that  is- 
positively  refreshing."  With  an  effort  not  to  show 
his  tolerant  amusement  he  ran  his  eyes  down  over 
his  friend's  figure  and  its  highly  elegant  habiliments. 
"And  such  a  swell!  One  would  hardly  recognize 
you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Hoffman  laughing  and  a  little 
flattered.  "You  know,  Alston,  a  man  gets  rusty  up 
there  in  the  country." 

Alston  nodded  without  much  conviction;  the 
thought  was  flitting  through  his  mind  that  a  bit  of 
what  Fred  evidently  now  thought  "rust"  would  be 


274       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

more  fitting  to  a  man  of  Hoffman's  age  and  training 
than  the  very  glittering  polish  which  he  seemed  to 
have  acquired.  It  was  a  sort  of  nickel-plated  Hoff 
man  he  had  found.  He  liked  him  less  than  the  old 
Hoffman,  even  though  the  old  one  had  been  far  less 
shiny.  Why,  Fred  had  even  picked  up  something 
of  the  New  York  accent!  He  softened  down  his 
"r's"  and  drawled  his  "a's"  a  little. 

"But  in  this  gay  city/'  the  subject  of  his  thoughts 
went  on,  "and  at  the  side  of  my  young  and  charm 
ing  wife " 

"So  you  are  really  happy?" 

"Of  course  I  am." 

"Well,  that's  the  main  thing." 

Hoffman  wished  to  ask  about  affairs  in  Belleville, 
but  was  hesitant.  Alston  felt  quite  sure  of  this.  He 
did  not  get  his  courage  to  the  point  until  the  tying 
of  his  cravat  gave  him  an  excuse  to  look  away  from 
Alston  while  he  made  his  inquiries. 

"Now  tell  me,  Alston,  what's  the  news  at  home?" 
he  asked  when  his  face  was  fully  turned  away. 

"Excellent,"  said  Alston.  "Harry  and  Valentine 
have  buckled  to  in  earnest  since  you  have  been  away ; 
but  of  course  you  know  that.  The  reports  have  shown 
you " 

"Yes;  they're  doing  well." 

"I  should  think  you'd  miss  the  business  sometimes, 
Fred.  You  used  to  be  so  wrapped  up  in  it — so  full 
of  your  work.  I  should  think  that  this  inactive 
life " 

"If  you  think  I'm  any  the  less  active  now  than  I 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       275 

was  there,  you  are  mistaken,"  Hoffman  answered 
gaily.  "I  have  a  whole  lot  to  do " 

"With  no  business  to  attend  to?  For  heaven's 
sake — what?" 

Hoffman  went  to  a  small  writing  desk,  taking  from 
it  an  engagement  book.  "Here!  Listen  to  this 
week's  program.  And  my  wife,  mind  you,  carries  it 
out  strictly.  To-morrow,  for  example,  we  go  to  the 
automobile  races  on  Long  Island.  Then  we  dine — 
out,  for  a  wonder !  I've  been  giving  many  dinners — 
they're  such  fun,  you  know !  In  the  evening  we  have 
a  theater  party,  and  after  that  a  supper  at  Sherry's. 
The  next  day  we  lunch  with  Hemlich — she's  the  new 
contralto  at  the  opera,  you  know — and  in  the  after 
noon  we  go  to  a  reception  at  Count  Deveaux's  studio. 
Then,  of  course,  there  comes  the  Horse  Show  in  the 
evening."  He  closed  the  little  book.  "That's  the  way 
it  goes.  Formerly,  you  see,  work  was  my  pleasure; 
now  pleasure  is  my  work." 

"Hard  work  sometimes,  too,  I  reckon."  Alston 
smiled  quizzically.  "Well,  youth  must  have  its 
fling." 

Fred  was  really  pleased.  So  constantly  had 
Bettina  harped  on  the  necessity  that  he  keep  him 
self  in  juvenile  condition  that  he  found  this  refer 
ence  of  Alston's  comforting.  He  was  dimly  conscious 
that  by  this  very  pleasure  he  might  lose  caste  in 
Alston's  eyes,  but  some  of  his  bygone  ideals  were 
rather  dim  in  his  mind  now.  In  the  moment  of  his 
elation  he  applied  a  few  drops  from  the  smaller  bottle 
to  his  heavy  mat  of  graying  hair. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"That's  what  I've  come  for,"  the  lawyer  answered 
cheerfully,  as  glad  to  change  the  subject  as  his  host 
was.  "He's  going  to  get  married." 

"Married!  Harry!  It  does  not  seem  possible! 
Still,  at  his  age  I — go  on,  Alston." 

"His  fiancee  is  that  dear  little  Miss  Dorothy 
Mason,  a  sweet  girl,  of  a  good  old  family.  She's  an 
orphan,  you  remember,  and  her  guardian  is  Senator 
Stephenson.  He's  her  uncle." 

Hoffman  nodded.  "I've  known  him  for  many 
years.  A  fine  old  gentleman !  I  am  really  glad."  He 
spoke  slowly  now  and  very  thoughtfully.  "With  all 
my  heart  I  hope  Harry  will  be  happy." 

"The  foundation  for  it  certainly  is  there.  They 
love  each  other  very  dearly."  Alston  paused  an  in 
stant.  "Of  course  no  one  can  foretell  the  future." 

His  friend  glanced  sharply  at  him  and  he  could 
have  bitten  his  tongue.  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
sorry  for  old  Fred.  "Senator  Stephenson  wishes  to 
see  you  about " 

There  came  another  interruption.  It  seemed  that 
never  would  he  be  permitted  to  tell  his  simple  little 
story  in  this  extraordinary  household.  This  time  the 
break  was  due  to  the  abrupt  intrusion  of  a  rather 

286 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       277 

"You  don't  mean  it!"  Hoffman  was  very  much 
surprised.  "She  was  a  nice  woman,  too — and  such 
an  excellent  housekeeper!" 

"Perhaps  that's  why  he  tired  of  her,"  said  Alston 
with  some  malice. 

"Have  a  cigar?"  said  Hoffman  somewhat  hurriedly 
and  turned  away  to  search  for  one. 

He  found  empty  boxes  only.  There  must  be, 
among  Bettina's  guests,  he  sometimes  thought,  those 
who  filled  their  pockets  with  his  perfectos.  They 
consumed  enormous  quantities  of  them.  But  stowed 
in  a  secret  chamber  of  his  desk  were  half  a  dozen, 
and  he  brought  them  out. 

"They  surely  punished  my  cigars  last  night,"  he 
said  a  little  ruefully,  "but  I  always  have  a  few  where 
they  cannot  get  at  them.  Astonishing  how  some  men 
smoke!  But  we  are  surrounded  here  by  a  very  in-* 
teresting  circle.  My  wife's  old  friends  principally." 

"Of  course,"  said  Alston,  again  feeling  the  con 
straint  on  him.  "Don't  you  smoke  a  pipe  at  all  in 
these  days?" 

"Oh,  no;  Bettina  doesn't  like  it.  It's  all  very  well 
in  the  country,  she  says,  but  not  here.  Alston,  I 
got  to  be  a  regular  farmer  there  in  Belleville.  Why, 
I  change  my  clothes  three  times  a  day  down  here!" 

"What  a  lot  of  trouble — at  your  age!" 

"Yes;  it  is,"  Hoffman  granted.  "But  Bettina  says 
that  as  a  man  grows  older  he  ought  to  be  especially 
careful  about  his  appearance.  She  draws  my  atten 
tion  to  everything." 

Alston  looked  at  him  almost  with  pity.  The  man 
seemed  to  be  half  proud  of  the  confession  that  a 


*   THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

petticoat  was  ruling  him — Fred  Hoffman,  who  had 
been  the  terror  of  the  house  in  Belleville!  It  was 
pathetic. 

"For  instance,"  Hoffman  continued  gravely,  filling 
him  with  new  surprise  with  every  word,  "she  has 
thought  it  best  for  me  to  give  up  my  after-dinner 
naps,  because  they  made  me  stout.  The  older  a 
man  is,  she  says,  the  better  figure  he  should  have. 
No  matter  how  tired  I  may  be,  she  thinks  I  ought 
to  leave  my  nap  out  .  .  .  and  sees  to  it  that  I 
do  ...  that  is,  helps  me  to  see  to  it.  She's 
been  sending  me  on  errands  after  dinner  to  break 
me  of  the  habit." 

"How  considerate  of  her!" 

Hoffman  looked  sharply  at  him.  Was  he  making 
game  of  him?  But  the  lawyer's  face,  trained  before 
jury-boxes,  was  inscrutable. 

"Yes,  it  really  is,  although  it  may  not  sound  so," 
Hoffman  went  on  earnestly,  somewhat  annoyed  be 
cause  he  found  himself  defending  her,  where  he  had 
only  meant  to  praise.  But  he  could  not  stop  it,  now 
that  he  had  started.  He  felt  that  in  his  praise  of 
her  he  must  find,  to  some  extent,  the  justification 
of  his  act  in  wedding  her.  "Oh,"  he  said  eagerly, 
"I  could  tell  you  many  other  little  things.  She's 
very  careful  of  me.  She  doesn't  allow  me  to  be 
troubled  with  any  household  details.  When  I  think 
of  how  they  used  to  torture  me  at  home — in  Belle 
ville — with:  'what  do  you  want  for  dinner?'  'would 
you  like  chops  for  breakfast?'  'shall  we  have  tea  or 
icoffee  for  lunch  to-day?'  I  " 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       279 

"And  now,"  said  Alston  with  a  queer  look  which 
bothered  him,  "nobody  asks  you!  What  a  relief  it 
must  be!" 

Hoffman  again  was  just  a  little  doubtful  as  to 
whether  he  had  made  his  point. 

"Well  .  .  .  yes.  And  Bettina  pays  the  bills, 
too.  I  just  give  her  the  money  and  all  that  is  taken 
care  of  for  me.  There  in  Belleville,  why,  I  had  to 
sign  all  checks.  But  say,  Alston,  life  in  New  York 
City  is  expensive!" 

"So  I've  heard." 

"But  she  saves  expenses  in  the  household.  You 
have  no  idea  how  much  cheaper  we've  been  living 
since  we've  not  had  a  cook." 

Alston  was  surprised.  He  could  scarcely  credit 
this.  "Your  wife  does  the  cooking ?" 

"Great  Scott,  no!  We  have  our  meals  sent  in 
from  Sherry's!" 

Alston  knew  about  Sherry's — one  of  the  most 
expensive  restaurants  on  earth.  He  gave  up  hope  of 
Fred.  He  must  have  been  entirely  brought  into  sub 
jection.  "How  very  clever!"  was  his  comment. 

"It  really  is.  They're  close  by — and  such  delicious 
cooking!" 

"But  rich  food,  Fred,  at  our  age " 

"Oh,  there  are  a  lot  of  things  they  send  which  I 
can't  eat!  But  my  wife  says  they're  all  delicious. 
And  so  cheap!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  lawyer  tersely.  "Sherry  is  known 
for  his  moderate  charges."  He  looked  about  the  ele 
gant,  but  nondescript  apartment — part  library,  part 


280       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

drawing-room,  part  music-room,  part,  if  the  presence 
of  some  female  finery  of  the  more  intimate  sort  could 
be  taken  as  an  evidence,  Bettina's  dressing-room. 
"What  room  is  this,  anyway?" 

"Well,  these  New  York  flats,  even  when  they  rent 
as  high  as  this  does — I  pay  five  thousand  dollars  for 
it " 

"Five  thousand  dollars  rent?" 

"Yes;  that's  cheap  for  this  location.  But  the  best 
of  them  are  crowded.  They're  not  like  big  houses  in 
the  country.  This  room  is  almost  anything,  but  I 
call  it  my  study." 

"Your  study?"  Alston  reached  behind  him  and 
drew  from  the  silver  cooler,  in  which  the  melted 
ice  had  left  an  inch  or  two  of  water,  the  empty 
champagne  bottle,  evidently  a  relic  of  the  night  be 
fore.  "Is  this  one  of  your  studies?"  He  smiled 
whimsically  at  his  old  friend. 

Hoffman  was  annoyed  because  the  room  had  not 
been  cleaned,  but  tried  to  hide  it.  "What  an  idea! 
With  my  tendency  toward  gout?  Bettina  wouldn't 
let  me  drink  champagne,  even  if  I  wanted  to!" 

There  seemed  to  be  a  lengthy  list  of  things,  thought 
Alston,  which  Bettina  would  not  let  him  do.  "But 
she  drinks  it,  doesn't  she?" 

"Oh,  yes;  she's  very  fond  of  it.  And  her 
guests " 

"They  like  it,  too.  I  see."  The  lawyer  settled 
down,  anxious  not  to  let  Fred  see  the  look  of  real 
astonishment  and  pity  which  swept  across  his  face. 
"Well,  Fred,  I  can  see  that  you  are  contented  and 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       281 

happy.  And  that's  fine."  He  paused :  "But  oh,  what 
a  nightmare  those  divorce  proceedings  were!  It  cost!1 
a  great  deal  of — er — worry;  but  I  suppose  all  this 
is  worth  it.  Eh?" 

Hoffman  did  not  answer  very  promptly.  "Yes," 
he  said  at  length,  although  his  eyes  evaded  Alston's. 
"Happiness  has  its  price.  We  must  pay  for  what 
we  get,  in  one  way  or  another." 

He  did  not  like  the  subject  and  changed  it  with 
a  good  deal  of  abruptness.  And  there  was  some 
thing  which  he  had  intended  to  discuss  with  some 
New  York  attorney.  Now  that  Alston  was  at  hand, 
he  would  talk  with  him  about  it. 

"By  the  way,  talking  about  paying,  my  wife  has  a 
stepfather,  or  some  such  relative  now  down  south 
in  Richmond.  Lately  he's  been  pestering  her  for 
money.  I  don't  like  to  talk  to  her  about  him,  be 
cause  it  makes  her  nervous.  I  wish  you'd  look  him 
up  for  me,  and  find  out  just  exactly  who  and  what 
he  is.  A  sort  of  black  sheep  in  her  family.  She's 
been  sending  five  hundred  dollars  to  him  at  a  time. 
Her  tender  heart,  you  know  .  .  .  but " 

Alston's  face  grew  hard.  "Her  tender  heart  did 
not  prevent  her  from  insisting  upon  very  handsome 
settlements  from  you  when  you  were  married!" 

"That,"  said  Hoffman,  quick  to  rise  in  her  de 
fense,  "was  her  mother's  work;  entirely  her  mother's. 
I  assure  you  that  Bettina  never  thinks  of  money.  It 
means  nothing  to  her.  She  really  cares  for  me 
.  .  .  it's  true,  Alston!  She's  so  sweet  .  .  . 
so  gentle " 


282       THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

By  one  of  those  unhappy  chances  with  which  this 
life  is  full,  the  sweet  and  gentle  lady's  voice  rose 
at  that  instant,  speaking  to  her  maid  in  the  adjoining 
room.  One  difficulty  of  New  York  life  is  that  flats 
hide  family  secrets  very  slightly.  They  make  frank 
revelations.  "You  stupid  fool!"  Bettina  was  exclaim 
ing,  and  her  voice  seemed  hard,  and  not  well-bred. 
"I  asked  you  for  the  blue  dressing-gown." 

"But " 

There  came  the  staccato  sound  of  a  sharp  concus 
sion,  as  if  a  hand  had  landed  on  a  cheek,  and  none  too 
gently.  An  instant  later  a  flushed  and  angry  servant 
dashed  into  the  room,  her  eyes  upon  the  partly  opened 
door  through  which  she  had  made  entrance. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  said  Hoffman,  very 
much  annoyed. 

"Madame  slapped  me!"  said  the  maid  upon  the 
verge  of  wrathful  tears. 

"A  very  quiet  room  to  work  in  and  she  must  be 
very  sweet  and  very  gentle!"  Alston  reflected  sadly 
as  he  watched  Fred's  embarrassed  face.  But  he  pre 
tended  to  have  been  deaf  to  all  the  somewhat  startling 
byplay. 

"We're  a  bit  upset  to-day,"  Hoffman  told  him  as 
he  came  back  to  his  seat,  trying  to  seem  undisturbed. 
"But  my  wife  will  soon  be  here.  She's  always  up 
and  about  by  twelve." 

"So  early?  Well,  before  she  comes  I'd  like  to  talk 
of  family  matters  with  you." 

"Family  matters?" 

"Concerning  Harry. " 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       383 

"Oh,  really?  What  is  it?"  Hoffman  instantly 
was  deeply  interested. 

Indeed  it  seemed  to  Alston,  as  he  glanced  at  him, 
that  he  was  almost  pathetically  eager.  He  wondered 
how  much  he  had  missed  that  family  which  he  had 
so  readily  given  up  in  favor  of  this  woman  who 
never  asked  him  what  he  wished  for  lunch,  whose 
stepfather  bled  him,  and  who  slapped  servants! 

"Well,  Harry " 

Abruptly,  without  knocking  or  any  warning  what 
soever,  a  young  man  strode  into  the  room.  He  was 
tall,  well-dressed,  with  flowing  hair  which  undulated 
as  he  strode,  with  long,  exceedingly  white  fingers, 
with  a  deep  frown  upon  his  brow. 

Alston  looked  at  him  with  real  amazement ;  he  noted 
that  his  friend  looked  at  him  only  with  annoyance. 
Could  he  be  accustomed  to  invasions  of  the  sort? 
Was  it  possible  that  Frederick  Hoffman,  the  intoler 
ant,  the  gruff,  the  cynical,  had  been  tamed  till  he 
would  tolerate  this  sort  of  intrusion  by  this  sort  of 
intruder  ? 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  apparition,  without  any 
signs  that,  really,  he  wished  to  be  excused,  or  thought 
an  excuse  necessary.  "The  piano-tuner  is  waiting 
outside."  With  no  further  greeting  he  passed,  in 
what  appeared  to  be  abstract  excitement,  to  the  hand 
some  instrument  which  held  the  center  of  the  room 
and  tapped  some  of  its  keys,  listening  critically  to 
the  resulting  sound. 

Hoffman  rose  angrily.  "What  the  dev "  he 

began,  but  caught  himself.  "Alston,"  he  said  with 


284       THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

great  restraint,  "this  is  Mr.  Theodore  Sevigny,  my 
wife's  music  teacher." 

"Theodore  Sevigny?"  Where  had  Alston  heard 
that  name?  Ah,  he  remembered!  He  had  a  won 
drous  memory  for  names.  This  one  had  been  men 
tioned  by  old  Murfree  long  ago  when  he  had  spoken 
of  the  undesirable  who  annoyed  him  by  pursuing 
some  young  model — the  model  of  the  very  picture  he 
had  given  him  and  which  he  had  so  quickly  hidden 
with  such  an  absurd  delicacy.  What  a  little  world ! 

He  bowed,  but  the  music  teacher  scarcely  noted  it. 
He  was  resentful  of  the  wording  of  the  introduction. 
"And  friend,"  he  made  correction.  "I  teach  only  as 
a  great  favor."  He  rolled  the  "r"  in  "great"  remark 
ably.  "I  teach  only  as  a  favor,  and  where  I  feel  that 
there  is  a  div-vine  accord.  You  understand?"  With 
that  he  dismissed  Alston  utterly  and  turned  again  to 
Hoffman  with  real  accusation  in  his  voice.  "Your 
piano  was  distressingly  out  of  tune  last  night.  It 
must  be  tuned  at  once." 

"Tell  the  tuner  to  come  back  later,"  said  Hoffman 
irritably.  "I  can't  have  that  noise  here  now." 

Sevigny  was  first  amazed,  then  most  indignant. 
"Oh,  very  well!"  he  said  excitedly.  "But  I  shall  tell 
Mrs.  Hoffman  that  I  shall  not  play  another  note  on 
this  piano  until  it  is  in  tune." 

"What  a  calamity!"  There  was  a  touch  of  the 
old  sarcasm  in  the  Hoffman  voice  as  it  said  this. 

Alston  tried  not  to  smile,  but  Sevigny's  deep  aston 
ishment  was  unmistakable.  Alston  wondered  if  it 
might  not  be  that  Fred  was  taking  courage  because 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       287 

fat  old  woman,  gorgeously  attired,  in  a  fashion  which 
would  have  better  fitted  one  of  half  her  age. 

"My  dear  Frederick,"  she  was  exclaiming  as  she 
pattered  on  her  short  legs  into  their  presence.  "I " 

She  saw  Alston  and  stopped  suddenly,  trying  to 
appear  to  be  embarrassed.  It  was  a  failure.  The 
days  when  she  could  even  seem  to  be  embarrassed 
had  evidently  passed.  "Oh,  pardon  me!" 

Hoffman  rose  and  introduced  them.  "My  friend 
and  attorney,  Mr.  Alston — my  mother-in-law,  Mrs. 
Curtis." 

Alston,  now  also  on  his  feet,  bowed  formally. 

The  vision  of  unwilling  antiquity — her  garb  was 
girlish,  though  her  chin  was  not — advanced  upon  the 
lawyer,  endeavoring  to  combine  sweetness  with  a 
flavoring  of  biting  sarcasm.  "Oh,  Mr.  Alston!  At 
last  I  have  the  pleasure  of  actually  seeing  the  wicked 
man  who  treated  my  poor  daughter  so  unkindly." 

"In  what  way?"     The  attorney  was  astonished. 

"In  drawing  up  the  papers  at  the  time  she  married 
Frederick.  You  were  so  unkind  to  her!  Almost 
everything  for  the — 'dear  family !' ' 

"But  why  all  this  now?"  Hoffman  interrupted, 
much  annoyed. 

"I  did  my  duty  as  the  friend  and  the  attorney  of 
both  sides,"  said  Alston  placidly.  "I  thought  Mr. 
Hoffman  was  most  generous  to  the — second  Mrs. 
Hoffman." 

"Really?  Did  you  think  that?  I  differ  most  em 
phatically." 

Hoffman's  manner  showed  that  he  disliked  her  and 


288       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

wished  to  quickly  get  her  gone.  "Pardon  me,  but 
what  can  I  do  for  you?  You  wished  to  ask  me 
something?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  must  speak  to  you  of  something  so 
important." 

"Can't  it  wait?" 

"No;  every  moment  must  be  saved.  Will  you  par 
don  us,  Mr.  Alston?" 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  her  "dear  Frederick"  demanded 
as  Alston  bowed  assent. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  in  private." 

"Mr.  Alston  is  my  lawyer,  and " 

"Well,  I  must  have  five  hundred  dollars — imme 
diately,  my  dear  Fred!" 

"What  for?" 

"Oh,  not  for  myself.  I  never  ask  anything  for 
myself — you  know  that." 

He  sniffed. 

"My  son — my  darling  Arthur — has  just  tele 
graphed  that  he  must  have  it — literally  must — to 
morrow  afternoon  at  latest." 

"Your  good-for-nothing  son  will  get  no  more 
money  from  me,"  Hoffman  said  emphatically.  He 
evidently  was  much  less  afraid  of  Mrs.  Curtis  than 
he  was  of  Mrs.  Curtis'  daughter. 

"But  he  must.     Bad  luck " 

"Let  him  stop  gambling  if  he  doesn't  like  bad 
luck!" 

"But  the  dear  boy — so  young — perhaps  a  little 
foolish — but  gambling  debts  are  debts  of  honor!" 

"Dishonor,  if  you  have  to  go  to  others  for  the  cash 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       289 

with  which  to  pay  them!  I'm  tired  of  his  kind  of 
honor!" 

She  was  evidently  frightened.  "But  he  is  so 
young!  When  he  has  sowed  his  wild  oats " 

"He  will  reap  a  fine  crop!"  her  son-in-law  com 
mented. 

She  was  almost  disheartened.  "My  poor  Arthur! 
I'm  afraid  he  will  do  something  desperate!" 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you!" 

"He  will  repay  you  as  soon  as  he  can  get  the 
money." 

Hoffman  was  exasperated.  "Madame,  I  won't 
live  that  long!" 

She  had  been  verging  upon  tears.  Now,  seeing 
that  his  heart  was  adamant,  she  stamped  her  foot 
and  set  her  lips.  "Let  us  hope  not!"  she  exclaimed 
and  swept  out  of  the  room. 

For  a  moment  after  she  had  gone  Hoffman  stood 
in  silence  with  flushed  face.  It  seemed  incredibly 
ill  fortune  that  all  these  small  humiliations  should 
have  piled  upon  him  in  the  very  presence  of  the  man 
from  whom  he  most  desired  to  hide  the  fact  that 
any  detail  was  imperfect  in  this  marriage  which  he 
had  so  madly  striven  to  accomplish.  But  the  iron 
nerve  which  once  had  carried  him  through  business 
deals,  when  much  hung  at  stake,  preserved  him. 
After  one  long  breath  he  turned  the  conversation 
back  to  Harry  without  comment  on  or  explanation 
of  what  just  had  happened. 

"I  fondly  hope  Harry  will  be  happy,"  he  said 
gravely.  "Do  you  know — after  all  that  has  hap- 


290       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

pened,  people  may  not  believe  it,  but  I  assure  you  it 
is  true — I  love  my  children  no  less  now  than  . 
in  the  past."  His  voice  almost  broke,  but  he  fought 
this  weakness  back  as  sternly  as  he  had  combated 
his  embarrassment.  "If  anything,  I  love  them 
more." 

"I  know,  Fred,"  said  his  friend,  and  placed  his 
hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"That  they  have  become  .  .  .  estranged 
.  .  .  that  they  have  forgotten  me  .  .  .  en 
tirely  .  .  .  that  grieves  me,  Alston;  grieves  me 
sorely." 

Alston,  deeply  touched,  still  was  not  very  merciful. 
"It  is  you,  old  man,  who  have  shown  yourself  es 
tranged.  And  you  must  have  known  that,  with 
.  .  .  this  marriage  .  .  .  everything  would 
alter." 

"Yes;  I  can  understand  that,  in  so  far  as  ... 
she  ...  as  Anna  ...  is  concerned.  Per 
haps  it  was  to  be  expected  also  in  the  case  of  Harry. 
But  as  for  Beatrice — Beatrice  was  always  my  own 
darling  child.  Now  she  does  not  even  want  to  see 
me — doesn't  even  want  to  see  her  father!  I  could 
not  have  thought  that  possible." 

"It  is  in  her  case  that  you  should  be  least  sur 
prised,"  Alston  answered  very  gravely.  "She's  a 
young  girl  who  had  believed  her  parents'  love  to  be 
the  finest,  purest  thing  in  all  the  world  until  .  .  . 
you  know!  To  her  the  words  'father'  .  .  .  and 
'mother'  ,;  .  ...  stood  for  something  sacred 

...     .     and  inseparable.     When  she  went   home 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       291 

and  learned  that  you  had  gone  away  .  .  .  and 
how  .  .  .  and  why  .  .  .  her  whole  little 
world  crumbled  underneath  her  feet.  Remember, 
Fred  .  .  .  she  does  not  see  things  through  your 
eyes.  How  could  she?" 

"I  know;  I  know.     She  couldn't  understand.     And 

yet,  after  all,  I  am  her  father!  She  should  remem 
ber » 

"  'Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother!'  I  am  sure 
she  does.  When  .  .  .  good  children  ;  .  .. 
do  not  ...  it  is  likely  not  to  be  their  fault, 
Fred,  but  the  fault  of "  He  left  the  sentence  in 
complete. 

"It  has  been  two  years  since  I  have  seen  her," 
Hoffman  reflected  slowly.  "Two  .  .  .  long 
.  .  .  years!  Do  you  often  get  over  to  the 
house?" 

"Very  often.  I've  a  standing  invitation  for  Sun 
day  dinner.  Which,  for  some  reason,  reminds  me 
that  I  promised  to  call  up  the  Senator  and  let  him 
know  when  you  would  be  at  home." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  him  at  any  time. 

"Where's  your  'phone?" 

Hoffman  slowly  rose  to  show  him,  but  as  they 
were  passing  toward  the  hall,  Bettina  entered. 

She  was  a  different  Bettina  from  the  girl  whom 
Alston  had  seen  frequently  in  Belleville.  Very  ele 
gantly  dressed  in  a  rich  house-gown,  her  really  at 
tractive  former  air  of  girlish  simplicity  quite  gone, 
replaced  now  by  an  atmosphere  of  savoir-faire  and 
opulence,  with  perhaps  a  little  arrogance,  she  swept 


292       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

in  without  the  faintest  trace  of  that  timidity  which 
had  been  her  chief est  and  most  charming  characteris 
tic  when  he  first  had  seen  her  in  the  Hoffman  home. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Alston,"  she  said  sweetly.  "I'm  so  glad 
to  see  you!  But  I've  such  a  headache!" 

"I  called  on  business,"  he  replied  politely,  but  with 
no  warmth  of  greeting. 

"Oh,  then,  I'm  in  the  way?" 

"No,  no;  not  at  all,  Bettina,"  her  husband  urged 
her.  Then,  with  concern:  "Have  you  a  headache?" 

She  went  close  to  him  as  Alston  half  turned  again 
to  go  toward  the  'phone  and  whispered  rather 
savagely:  "Yes,  and  I  can  thank  you  for  it!"  Her 
tone  was  bitter,  despite  the  care  with  which  she 
spoke.  Perhaps,  indeed,  the  care  was  rather  more 
assumed  than  real. 

Then  to  Alston,  who  had  heard  perfectly  and  did 
not  know  quite  what  to  do:  "I  have  been  so  vexed! 
Servants!  Unless  you  treat  them  like  dogs  they 
over-ride  you,  and  if  you  treat  them  as  they  should 
be  treated,  then  they  won't  stay  with  you."  Having 
thus  invented  an  excuse  for  her  first  little  burst  of 
temper:  "You  will  stay  for  luncheon,  Mr.  Alston?" 

"I  am  very  sorry.     I  have  an  engagement." 

"Can't  we  persuade  you?  I  assure  you  it's  no 
trouble.  My  household  is  so  regulated  that " 

Involuntarily  Alston  glanced  about  the  most  untidy 
room. 

She  caught  this.  "Why,  Fred,  how  very  upset  you 
have  made  this  room  look!" 

Hoffman  relieved  Alston  of  his  keen  embarrass- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       293 

ment  and  at  the  same  time  gave  himself  a  moment 
for  a  private  conversation  with  Bettina.  He  must 
know  what  made  the  air  so  pregnant  of  discord. 
"Come  on,  Alston,  if  you  wish  to  'phone." 

Alston  bowed  slightly  to  Bettina.  "If  you  would 
be  so  good,  Fred." 

They  left  the  room  together,  but  Hoffman  came 

back  almost  instantly.  "Now,  dear "  he  began 

propitiatingly. 

But  she  did  not  wish  to  be  propitiated.  "I  want 
you  to  know  that  you  have  treated  my  mother  very 
rudely!"  She  tapped  her  foot  and  fingered  her  gown 
angrily. 

"Rudely?" 

"Yes;  very  rudely.  My  darling  mother,  who  has 
so  lovingly  taken  you  into  our  family!" 

This  apparently  did  not  so  very  much  impress 
him. 

"Now  when  she  asks  one  little  thing " 

He  did  not  weaken.  "One  thing!"  His  tone  was 
full  of  sarcasm. 

"You  refuse,  though  it  was  for  my  brother!" 

"My  dear  child,"  he  answered  seriously,  "I  am 
really  not  in  a  position  to  satisfy  all  the  demands 
which  you  are  making  on  me."  He  paused  a  mo 
ment,  looking  at  her.  His  spirits  had  a  little  risen, 
doubtless,  he  reflected,  because  of  Alston's  visit. 
"But  if  you  wish,"  he  amiably  suggested.  "I  have 
no  objection  to  your  squandering  upon  him  a  little 
of  the  income  I  have  settled  upon  you." 

This  very  much  astonished  her.    "Oh,  how  selfish! 


294.       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

The  idea  of  asking  me  to  use  my  poor  little  funds 
for  Arthur!  And  you,  with  all  your  money!" 

He  still  spoke  seriously,  not  unkindly.  "I  have 
use  for  all  my  funds  just  now.  My  son  Harry  is 
about  to  be  married,  and " 

She  was  astonished.  "Harry?  Really?  And  he 
was  so  in  love  with  me!  How  unreliable  men  are!" 

"Of  course  I  must  properly  provide  for  him. 

"Ah,"  she  said  angrily.  "That's  it!  Always  so 
liberal  with  the  other  side!" 

"You  knew  that  I  would  have  to  take  care  of  my 
family." 

"But  now  we  are  your  family.  What  becomes  of 
us  does  not  seem  to  trouble  you!" 

"My  dear!"  said  he,  reproachfully.  And  then: 
"Please  don't  make  a  ...  scene!  I  am  tor 
tured  enough  as  it  is." 

She  evidently  did  not  think  so,  for  she  began  to 
softly  weep.  Nothing,  she  had  learned  by  past  ex 
perience,  tortured  him  so  much  as  that.  "I  have 
sacrificed  everything  for  you  .  .  .  my  youth 
.  .  .  my  freedom " 

"Bettina,"  said  the  harassed  man,  "I  do  all  I  can 
for  you.  I  think  only  of  your  happiness." 

"My  happiness!  Why,  any  other  man  would  gladly 
place  at  my  feet  whatever  I  might  ask  for!  But 
you — from  you,  if  I  get  anything — how  I  have  to 
beg  for  it!" 

"You  are  unjust." 

She  stamped  her  foot,  she  clenched  her  hands,  her 
voice  rose. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   295 

"What  have  I  got  from  you?  From  life?  What 
have  I  got?  I  am  young!  /  want  to  enjoy!" 

Hoffman  had  heard  Alston  say  "good-by"  out 
at  the  telephone,  and  he  motioned  her  for 
quiet,  asking,  meanwhile :  "Why,  Bettina !  I  can't 
understand  you.  Have  I  ever  denied  you  any 
thing?" 

She  laughed  scornfully.     "Denied  me " 

But  she  saw  Alston  coming  in,  and  bit  her  lips,  first 
into  quiet,  then  into  a  smile  of  greeting. 

"Worst  telephone  service  in  the  world!"  said 
Alston.  "We  would  not  tolerate  your  metropolitan 
inefficiency  in  Belleville.  The  senator  is  on  his  way. 
He'll  be  here  very  quickly.  I  caught  him  at  a  club, 
almost  across  the  way." 

"Dear  Mr.  Alston,"  said  Bettina,  going  toward 
him,  "if  you  can't  stay  for  luncheon,  you  must 
promise  us  the  evening." 

He  shook  his  head.  "I  hardly  see  how  I  could 
arrange " 

"Oh,  but  you  must!"  She  turned  to  her  hus 
band.  "Freddie,  dear,  help  me  to  persuade  him!" 

"Yes,  you  must  come,  Alston." 

Her  eyes  were  on  him  with  an  intensity  that  belied 
her  honeyed  words  and  manner.  "Freddie,  dear,  I'm 
going  to  mother,  now."  She  put  her  arm  in  his,  and 
as  Alston  gazed  at  them  with  a  queer  incredulity, 
trying  to  realize  that  this  was  his  old  friend:  "And 
may  I  tell  her  that  you  will  grant  her  that  small 
favor?" 

"Well,  to  please  you,  I'll  do  my  best."     He  spoke 


296       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

reluctantly,  but  was  helpless  in  his  fear  of  an  out 
break  before  Alston. 

She  nestled  up  to  him,  smiled  into  his  face  and 
looked  across  his  shoulder  roguishly  at  Alston. 
"Thank  you,  dear,  so  much !  And  ...  aw  re- 
voir,  dear!  Don't  forget  to  fix  yourself  up  nicely 
for  luncheon."  She  held  a  cheek  up  for  his  kiss 
which  he  hesitated  about  giving.  "Grouchy  old  bear, 
dear,  aren't  you?  What's  the  matter?  Don't  you 
want  to  kiss  your  .  .  .  sweetheart?" 

In  deep  embarrassment  and  without  enthusiasm, 
he  kissed  her  cheek  while  Alston  considerately  turned 
his  head  away. 

"That's  a  dear!"  She  swept  across  the  room  in 
her  rich  gown,  gurgling  out  her  throaty  little  laugh, 
placed  her  hand  upon  the  door-knob  of  the  portal  of 
the  room  adjoining  and  smiled  back  at  him.  "My 
Freddie!" 

"Well,  you  see  how  much  she  cares  for  me,"  said 
Hoffman,  fatuously  glancing  at  the  lawyer  after  she 
had  left  the  room. 

"Yes,"  said  Alston  noncommittally.    "I  see." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Senator  Stevenson  arrived  a  little  later,  before 
Hoffman  had  quite  finished  dressing. 

"Tell  them  to  take  him  into  the  reception-room,'* 
said  he  when  the  recently  sorely-stricken  maid  an 
nounced  the  visitor. 

"The  reception-room  floor  is  being  waxed,"  she 
answered  pertly. 

"Then  into  the  small  drawing-room." 

"The  vacuum-cleaner  men  are  working  there." 

"Well,  he  can't  come  here,  into  a  room  that  looks 
like  this!"  said  Hoffman  helplessly.  "Take  him  to 
the  dining-room.  I'll  be  in  almost  at  once." 

"The  waiter  is  setting  the  table  for  luncheon. 
Madame  ordered " 

It  was  hopeless — utterly.  "Well,  bring  him  here." 
The  unhappy  man  glanced  somewhat  wildly  at  the 
sad  disorder  of  the  otherwise  very  elegant  apart 
ment.  "But  you  must  keep  him  waiting  till  you've 
straightened  here  a  little." 

She  seemed  amazed.  "Now?  Impossible.  I  must 
press  Madame' s  white  opera-wrap.  She  is  to  wear 
it  to-night.  She  gave  me  orders." 

Hoffman  made  a  gesture  of  quite  futile  rage  as 
she  left  the  room  without  another  glance  at  him. 

"Let's  do  it  ourselves,  Fred,"  Alston  suggested 
blithely,  coming  to  his  rescue.  "We  can  keep  him 

297 


298       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

waiting  downstairs  for  a  moment.  "And,"  he  said, 
trying  to  make  a  joke  of  it,  "it  won't  be  long  before 
the  suffragettes  will  have  us  men  doing  all  the  house 
work,  anyway.  Come  on!" 

"Well " 

"I'll  do  it.  You  go  in  and  fix  yourself  up,  as  your 
wi  f e  instruc — requested. " 

"Well,  if  you  could  .  .  .  while  I  put  on  an 
other  coat " 

Alston  nodded. 

"If  you  don't  know  where  to  put  things,  throw 
'em  into  my  room.  That's  what  they  all  do  here." 
Hoffman  hurried  off  to  find  the  coat. 

With  intense  diligence  the  lawyer  bent  his  energies 
to  the  task  before  him.  There  was  the  champagne 
cooler  to  get  out  of  sight,  the  lady's  underskirt — 
which,  even  as  he  worked  alone  there,  somewhat 
embarrassed  him;  he  greeted  it  with  almost  as  deep 
a  flush  as  that  with  which  he  had  received  the  startling 
picture  Murfree  had  presented  to  him  of  the  un 
clad  girl;  but  he  must  make  some  disposition  of  it; 
and  music  was  scattered  almost  everywhere.  In 
discriminately  he  stuffed  his  finds  into  the  champagne 
cooler  and  thrust  this  through  the  door  of  Hoffman's 
room. 

He  had  scarcely  skimmed  the  surface  of  the  much- 
disordered  room  when  Rose  ushered  in  the  Senator. 
Alston  hurried  forward. 

"Senator,  permit  me  to  welcome  you.  Mr.  Hoff 
man  is  detained  for  a  few  moments." 

Senator  Stevenson,  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       299 

white-haired,  frock-coated,  superlatively  dignified, 
advanced  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Mr.  Alston,"  he  said  heartily,  "I'm  glad  to  see 
you,  sir.  It  is  an  unexpected  stroke  of  really  good 
fortune.  I  confess  that  I  have  been  feeling  that  in 
this  meeting  with  my  old — er — old  friend,  Mr.  Hoff 
man,  I  should  sadly  need  some  moral  support.  I  had 
not,  however,  hoped  to  find  it.  I  am  glad  you're 
here,  sir.  I  admit  that  to  a  man  of — er — of  my  old- 
fashioned  ideas,  a  situation  of  this  kind  seems  most 
embarrassing.  I  know  the — er — the  former  Mrs. 
Hoffman  very  well.  And  so,  you  see,  instead  of  con 
gratulating  Mr.  Hoffman  upon  his — er — his  change, 
I'm  quite  likely  to  find  myself  condoling  with  him." 

"I  can  quite  understand,  Senator.  I  have  been 
treading  on  thin  ice  myself,"  said  Alston. 

"Of  course.  We  must — er — must  support  each 
other."  The  old  man  smiled  a  little  heavily. 

As  Alston  nodded  in  agreement  to  this,  Hoffman 
came  out  of  his  room,  arrayed  in  perfect  fashion  for 
a  New  York  afternoon.  He  made  a  very  different 
figure  from  the  Frederick  Hoffman  who  had  won 
success  in  Belleville.  Alston  quizzically  smiled  at 
sight  of  all  his  elegance — a  very  private,  confidential 
smile  which  he  shared  with  himself  alone. 

"Senator,"  he  said,  advancing,  "I  appreciate  the 
honor  of  your  visit.  Pardon  me  for  having  kept  you 
waiting.  Please  be  seated." 

"Our  legal  friend,"  replied  the  Senator,  after  he 
had  shaken  hands  and  found  a  seat,  "has — er — has 
undoubtedly  already  informed  you " 


300       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Yes,  Senator;  and  I  am  indeed  happy  that  my 
son  has  been  so  fortunate.  I  remember  your  ward  as 
a  most  lovely  girl." 

"The  young  people  love  each  other,"  said  the 
Senator.  "That  is  the — er — the  really  important  de 
tail.  We  must  not  stand  in  the  way  of  their  happi 
ness." 

Hoffman  smiled  at  him.  "I  give  my  consent  with 
all  my  heart." 

"I  presumed  as  much.  Let  us  now  come  to  the — 
er — the  business  side  of  the  affair.  I  came  here  to 
consult  with  you  about  the  purchase  of  your  residence 
in  Belleville." 

Hoffman  looked  at  him  with  some  astonishment. 
"The  place  is  not  for  sale.  I  shall  always  keep  it 
as  a  home  for  my  daughter — and  her  mother."  He 
flushed  slightly. 

Now  the  Senator  showed  definite  astonishment  in 
his  turn.  "I — er — I  understood — why  that  they  had 
— er — had  left  it  and  secured  another  home." 

Hoffman  turned  to  Alston  with  a  blank,  puzzled 
face.  "Why,  I  hadn't "  He  felt  strangely  non 
plussed,  almost  hurt.  That  the  old  home  had  been 
deserted 

"The  Senator  is  right,"  said  Alston. 

"That,"  said  Hoffman  after  a  slight  pause  in 
which  he  strove  to  readjust  himself,  "alters  the  case, 
of  course." 

"As  you  know,  Fred,"  Alston  explained  to  him, 
"your  old  home — your  house — the  red  brick  house — • 
adjoins  the  Mason  estate.  Together  they  would  make 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       301 

a  most  magnificent  property.  The  Senator  has  been 
thinking  of  presenting  it  as  such  to  the  young  people 
as  a  wedding  gift." 

Hoffman  had  not  quite  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  his  surprise.  He  had  never  dreamed  that  the  old 
home  could  ever  be  deserted  by  Anna  and  the  chil 
dren.  There  was  a  bitter  pathos  in  the  thought.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  he  even  nodded. 

"I  would  be  glad  to  make  you  an  offer,  Mr.  Hoff 
man,"  said  the  Senator  gravely  courteous. 

Hoffman  would  not  bargain.  "I  will  leave  the 
matter  wholly  in  your  hands,"  said  he.  "Alston,  will 
you  look  after  any  details?  I — why " 

"Surely,  Fred,"  said  Alston  with  compassion,  un 
derstanding  perfectly  how  great  the  shock  had  been. 

Hoffman  sat  there  somewhat  dazed  as  his  wife 
swept  in.  "Ah,"  he  said  dully  as  with  the  other 
men  he  rose.  "My  wife.  Bettina,  dear — this  is 
Senator  Stevenson." 

"Mrs.  Hoffman!"  said  the  Senator,  bowing  most 
profoundly,  but  not  offering  his  hand. 

"Senator,  I  am  delighted."  Bettina  swept  her  hand 
behind  her  and  led  forth  her  mother,  who  had  closely 
followed  her.  "This  is  my  mother,  Mrs.  Curtis." 

Sevigny  entered  as  she  spoke  as  unceremoniously 
as  ever. 

"And  this  is  an  old  friend  of  ours.  Mr.  Theodore 
Sevigny,  the  composer.  Of  course  you  have  heard  of 
him." 

As  the  Senator  was  bowing  he  was  shrewdly  study 
ing  the  party.  "No,  madame,"  he  replied  with  per- 


302       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

feet  courtesy,  but  with  finality,  "I  really  have — er — 
not." 

She  spoke  up  quickly  in  defense  of  the  musician. 
"His  music  is  not  for  the  masses.  Only  the  chosen 
few  are  capable " 

"Why  should  it  surprise  you,  Mrs.  Hoffman,  when 
you  find  those  who  do  not  know  me?"  the  composer 
interrupted  with  some  wounded  grandeur.  "As  his 
tory  shows  has  been  the  case  with  all  the  truly  great 
composers,  I,  too,  shall  be  appreciated  only  after  I 
am — dead!" 

Alston  looked  at  Hoffman  with  amused  delight; 
Hoffman,  flushed,  annoyed. 

"I  won't  detain  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Hoffman," 
said  the  Senator,  plainly  anxious  to  be  off.  "Mr. 
Alston  and  I  can  arrange  this  together.  I  shall  leave 
you  to — er — to  your  charming  family." 

But  Bettina  and  her  mother  would  not  let  him  go. 
With  what  might  be  referred  to  by  the  irreverent 
as  good  teamwork,  they  almost  forced  him  to  a  seat 
on  a  chaise-longue. 

"Oh,  Senator,"  said  the  beautiful  young  mistress 
of  the  "charming  family,"  "you  must  not  be  in 
such  great  haste.  There  is  so  much  which  I  must 
ask  you  about  Washington.  You  live  there,  of 
course." 

"Only  while  Congress  is  in  session,"  said  the  un 
comfortable  old  statesman.  "My  home  is  at  Belle 
ville." 

"They  say  Washington  is  beautiful!  Have  they — 
many  theaters  there?"  Bettina  could  not  miss  a 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       303 

chance  like  this.  A  Senator!  And  her  little  sister 
trying  to  find  influence  with  managers! 

"They  have  theaters,  of  course.  I  rarely— er — find 
time  to  go  to  them." 

"I  asked  because  of  my  young  sister,  Dolly.  She's 
a  wild  little  tom-boy  and  she  just  loves  the  theater. 
She  insists  that  she  is  going  on  the  stage. " 

"I  hope  she  will  recover  from — I  mean,  I  wish  her 
all  success." 

"Mr.  Sevigny  says  her  voice  is  liquid  melody!  He 
is  so  poetic!  He  is  to  compose  some  songs  for  her." 

Of  them  all,  only  the  gifted  youth  whom  she  had 
mentioned  was  not  listening.  He  alone  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  the  statesman.  After  a  few  seconds  of  the 
conversation  he  had  found  his  way  to  the  piano 
where  he  now  sat  with  his  hands  above  the  keys,  not 
touching  them,  but  moving  over  them,  while  his  head 
bowed  low,  bobbed  high,  his  shoulders  heaved,  his 
body  swayed. 

"Bettina!"  he  cried  suddenly,  and  all  turned  to  gaze 
at  him.  "An  inspiration!" 

"Hush!"  said  Mrs.  Curtis  with  an  expressive  wave 
of  a  fat  hand  instantly  attentive  to  the  genius.  "He 
has  an  inspiration!" 

"Oh,  if  he  only  had  the  opportunity!"  Bettina  ex 
claimed  eagerly.  "I  am  sure  the  world  would  listen 
to  him  in  amazement." 

"Amazement!  Yes,"  said  Hoffman  dryly,  and 
Alston  smiled. 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Curtis  with  a  side  glance 
at  the  Senator,  and  paying  no  heed  to  the  two  bar- 


304       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

barians,  "in  these  days  even  those  inspired  by  divine 
music  must  have  influence  in  order  to  find  listeners." 

"He  has  just  finished  an  incredible  score," 
her  daughter  seconded,  turning  on  the  Senator 
with  eager  eyes.  "Are  you,  by  any  chance,  acquainted 
with  the  managing  director  of  the  opera,  Sena 
tor?" 

"No,  Madame,"  said  the  bewildered  lawmaker,  "I 
am  not." 

"But  you  certainly  have  friends  who  know  him, 
and  who  would  introduce  this  genius  to  him,"  Mrs. 
Curtis  ventured. 

The  Senator  had  no  time  for  a  reply.  "I've  got  it! 
Now,  I've  got  it!"  came  a  cry  from  the  piano. 

It  was  a  startling  exclamation  in  a  per  fervid  voice. 
All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  composer  who  rose  in 
an  ecstasy  from  the  piano,  grasped  wildly  for  a  sheet 
of  music  paper  lying  near,  and  for  a  moment  scrib 
bled  on  it  madly. 

"What  is  it?  What  has  he  got?"  the  Senator 
asked  Alston  with  some  apprehension. 

But  now  Theodore  was  standing  with  a  glowing, 
upturned  face,  his  long  hair  tossing  even  as  the  waves 
of  the  sea  in  stress  of  storm.  He  spoke  only  to 
Bettina. 

"At  last!"  he  cried.  "At  last  it  stands  before  my 
mental  eye — within  my  grasp!  It  is  complete!  The 
music-drama  of  the  soul !  What  shall  I  call  it  ?  Ah ! 
'Love's  Torture!'  That  will  thrill  them!" 

"It  certainly  thrills  me!"  said  Alston  in  an  aside 
to  Hoffman. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       305 

The  Senator  was  half  alarmed  and  half  amused. 
"I_er_confess  I,  too " 

"Hush!"  said  the  composer,  holding  up  a  warning 
hand.  "Bettina — to  the  piano!" 

She  obeyed  as  he  declaimed : 

"Two  lovers  .  ^  .  alone  ...  at  mid 
night!  Fate  decrees  that  they  must  part!  Ah! 
Vi-vi-sec-tion  of  the  soul!"  He  waved  his  hands. 
"See?  Staccato!  Fine  .  .  .  like  needles!  Then 
.  .  .  and  then.  ...  a  thrill!  Then  soft 
.  .  .  and  softer  .  .  .  like  the  twitching  of  a 
wounded  heart!"  He  gazed  into  Bettina's  eyes. 
"And  you,  my  dear " 

Startled,  she  drew  back  a  little. 

" Mrs.  Hoffman,"  he  added  instantly,  "you 

have  inspired  it!  Listen!" 

Although  he  had  invited  her  to  it,  he  swept  Bettina 
from  her  place  with  little  ceremony  and  himself 
sprang  to  it  in  a  fine  frenzy.  Instantly  his  hands 
crashed  on  the  keys.  He  played  as  one  enraptured, 
throwing  off,  from  time  to  time,  explanatory  words. 
"The  needles!"  he  exclaimed,  as  one  passage  sounded 
through  the  room.  Again:  "And  then  .  .  .  the 
thrill!" 

"How  marvelously  descriptive !"  cried  Bettina. 

"Wait  .  .  .  wait!"  said  the  composer. 
"Wait!" 

Now  he  played  weird  chords  very  softly. 

"Is  that  the  twitching  of  the  wounded  heart?"  the 
Senator  asked  Alston  in  a  whisper. 

"No,"  the  lawyer  answered,  "that's  the  torture!" 


306       THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE 

And  now,  fully  launched,  the  man  at  the  piano 
swept  his  fingers  up  and  down  the  keys  in  crashing 
chords,  in  tiddling  little  tinkelties,  in  minor  wailings 
in  bewildering  succession.  Finally,  completing  the 
morceau,  he  rose,  almost  exhausted. 

"Now,  Senator,"  Bettina  cried,  delighted,  "you  see 
what  a  genius  he  is,  really?" 

"Yes — yes,  Madame,"  replied  the  Senator,  "but — 
er — but  really,  I  am  pressed  for  time." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Alston  and  Hoffman  went  with  Senator  Steven 
son  to  the  door  of  the  apartment,  and,  afterward, 
waited  with  him  for  the  elevator.  Bettina's  mother, 
spellbound,  stood  gazing  after  them,  but  Sevigny 
sprang  from  the  piano  with  a  vehemence  which  left 
the  stool-top  (of  gilt  wood,  sea-shell  shape)  whirl 
ing  dizzily,  and  approached  Bettina  who  remained 
with  him. 

"Stupids!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Bettina!  My  Bet 
tina!  Am  I  never  to  see  you  alone,  again?" 

"Perhaps  to-night,"  she  swiftly  whispered.  "We 
have  opera  seats,  but  he  has  been  so  vicious  that  I 
shall  not  go  with  him." 

Impulsively  he  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  He 
was  holding  out  his  arms  to  her  for  a  more  intimate 
expression  of  his  joy,  when  a  hasty  hiss  from  Mrs. 
Curtis  drove  them  apart.  Their  expressions  of  en 
dearment,  their  implied  embrace,  she  accepted  with 
composure.  Her  action  was  no  reprimand,  but  a 
mere  warning  that  Alston  was  returning. 

Quick  as  was  their  separation,  the  lawyer  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  black-sleeved  arm  of  the  musician 
against  the  old-rose  satin  of  Bettina's  gown,  and  came 
to  an  amazed  standstill ;  but,  with  almost  instantaneous 
recovery  of  composure,  so  quick,  indeed,  that  they  did 

307 


308       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

not  suspect  that  he  had  seen  their  slight,  unlawful  by 
play,  he  joined  Mrs.  Curtis  and  was  chatting  with 
her  when  Hoffman  followed,  smilingly  reflecting  on 
the  pleasant  mission  of  the  Senator.  Mrs.  Curtis 
smiled  at  Alston. 

"Such  a  nice  old  man — the  Senator.  And  is  he 
rich?"  she  asked,  careful  to  obtrude  her  ample  person 
between  him  and  the  young  folk. 

"Yes;  very  rich." 

"Married?" 

"Yes'm,"  said  the  lawyer,  with  some  emphasis. 
iThen,  with  a  slight  smile,  looking  from  her  to  her 
daughter,  now  well  separated  from  Sevigny,  who 
again  was  seated  at  the  piano:  "But  that's  nothing, 
ma'am,  these  days." 

Hoffman's  face,  as  he  advanced,  was  in  a  glow  of 
pleasure.  The  visits  of  two  men  from  the  old  world 
in  the  same  day  had  warmed  the  heart,  which  had 
been  chilled  by  two  years  of  the  cold  aversion  of  old 
friends.  He  had  scarcely  realized,  till  now,  how  much 
they  really  meant  to  him.  He  even  smiled  at  Rosa,  as 
she  intercepted  him,  extending  a  tiny  salver  on  which 
a  letter  lay. 

"A  special  for  you,  sir." 

He  looked  at  it  with  that  blank  stare  peculiar  to 
those  whose  sight  the  years  are  dimming,  and  then 
fumbled  in  his  pockets.  He  did  not  find  in  them  his 
eye-glasses,  and,  presently  after  he  had  torn  the  letter 
open,  handed  it  to  the  lawyer. 

"See  what  this  is,  Alston,  will  you?  I  can't  find  my 
glasses." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       809 

"It's  from  Jersey  City,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Twenty- 
six  Ferd  Street." 

"Jersey  City?  Is  it?"  Hoffman's  voice  was  quite 
indifferent. 

Alston's  eyes  ran  rapidly  across  the  written  words. 
Then  he  gave  him  a  quick  glance  of  curiosity,  in  which 
a  little  pity  blended.  "I  don't  believe  I'd  better  read 
it,  Fred.  It's — perhaps  you'd  rather  no  one  but  your 
self " 

"Go  on,  Alston." 

The  lawyer  looked  at  him  with  that  slightly  wistful 
smile  which  he  had  always  used  when  he  had  seen  his 
big,  impulsive  friend  about  to  do  some  foolish  thing 
which  he  could  not  approve  of  nor  dissuade  him  from, 
or  when,  after  something  of  the  sort  was  done,  he 
tried  to  help  him  out  of  the  resultant  scrape.  "I'd 
rather  not,  Fred." 

"Oh,  go  on,  Alston." 

"Well!  'Sir,' it  starts  off.  'You're  going  to  get  the 
scandal  and  disgrace,  since  you  don't  wish  to  avoid 
them — you  and  that  young  cat,  Bettina.'  ' 

"By " 

"Shall  I  go  on,  Fred?" 

"Certainly."  He  laughed  sourly.  "Sounds  as  if  I 
might  have  need  of  you,  professionally.  Must  be  some 
crank.  They're  after  everyone,  here  in  New  York." 

"  'I  have  received  no  reply  to  my  last  three  let 
ters '  " 

"And  from  Jersey  City?    It's  a  crank,  all  right." 

The  lawyer's  voice  was  very  serious,  so  serious  that 
Hoffman  looked  at  him  with  an  almost  annoyed  in- 


810       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

quiry,  as  he  again  inquired:     "Shall  I  go  on,  Fred? 
I'd  much  rather  not." 

"Certainly,  old  man;  go  on.  But  I  know  who  it's 
from,  now.  It  was  the  Jersey  City  that  fooled  me. 
I  thought  he  was  in  Baltimore.  It's  from  Bettina's 
stepfather." 

"  'I  have  received  no  money '  " 

"Well,  he'll  get  no  more,  that's  certain.  I'm  tired 
of  it." 

"  'I  am  in  the  most  desperate  position,  while  the 
whole  amount  which  would  be  needed  to  release  me 
would  be  but  a  trifle  to  a  man  of  your  great  means. 
Twelve  hundred  dollars,  that's  all '  ' 

Hoffman  snorted  in  his  wrath.  "  'Twelve  hundred 
dollars,  that's  all!'  I  wonder  if  he  thinks  I'm  here 
for  nothing  but  to  hand  out  money  to  him!  I've 

already " 

'You  have  never  sent  a  cent  to  me;  Bettina,  the 
ungrateful  girl,  has  never  helped  me  with  a  penny, 
although  she  knew  of  my  sore  need.  Now  I  shall  do 
something,  if  you  don't  look  out!  Mark  you — if  she 
had  sent  me  anything '  ' 

"Never  sent  a  cent  to  him!  I've  given  Bettina 
money  for  him  half-a-dozen  times!"  Hoffman  ex 
claimed  angrily — so  angrily  that  his  voice  carried  into 
the  adjoining  room. 

Bettina,  greatly  startled,  left  Sevigny  and  came  hur 
rying  toward  them.  Her  face  was  rather  pallid,  but 
the  two  men,  absorbed  in  the  surprising  letter,  did  not 
even  see  her. 

"  'If  I  do  not  have  the  money  by  to-morrow  after- 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       311 

noon,  I  will  see  to  it  that  you  have  a  scandal  worse 
than  that  which  drove  you  out  of  your  old  home.  Bet- 
tina  and — well,  wait!'  ' 

"What  are  you  reading,  Mr.  Alston?"  she  asked 
breathlessly. 

"He's  reading  me  a  letter  threatening  scandal — a 
letter  demanding  money — a  blackmailing  letter — writ 
ten  by  your  mother's — second  venture,"  Hoffman  ex 
plained  angrily. 

"Do  you  reproach  me  for  it?"  It  might  have  been 
that  worry  gave  it  a  timbre  which  she  did  not  intend, 
but  her  voice  sounded  insolent,  defiant. 

Her  mother,  scenting  trouble  from  afar,  hurried  to 
her  side.  "Surely  my  child  is  not  to  blame  for  my 
misfortune!"  she  exclaimed. 

Her  appearance  annoyed  Hoffman.  The  whole 
thing  annoyed  him.  That  he  should  have  fallen  into 
the  mistake  of  asking  Alston  to  read  to  him  this  letter, 
of  all  letters,  had  put  him  in  a  dangerous  temper — 
Alston,  whom  he  wished  above  most  men  to  think 
his  second  marriage  had  quite  justified  the  sacrifices 
it  had  cost! 

"Madame,"  Hoffman  snarled,  "you  are  not  in  this 
conference." 

But  she  was  not  to  be  denied.  "She's  no  more  to 
blame  for  my  misfortunes  than  I  am  for  hers — the 
fact  that  she  has  tied  herself  to  a  man  old  enough  to 
be  her  father!"  she  snapped  nastily.  "I  urged  her  not 
to.  I  urged  her  to  select  some  young  and  single  man !" 

Hoffman  gazed  at  her  in  speechless  wrath,  a  rare 
and  ominous  state  for  him. 


312       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Madame,"  said  Alston  calmly,  "your  daughter  was 
old  enough  to  know  what  she  was  doing."  It  an 
gered  him  to  have  Fred  baited  in  this  way. 

"It's  not  so  much  the  difference  in  ages,"  said  the 
fat  old  woman,  very  angrily.  "But  a  man  with  two 
grown-up  children  .  .  .  and  everything  going  to  them, 
while  my  daughter " 

Hoffman  advanced  on  her  as  in  Belleville  he  had 
sometimes  marched  on  Barbie.  It  for  the  moment 
silenced  her,  although,  while  his  lips  twitched  in  a 
fury,  he  still  could  find  no  words. 

Alston  turned  back  to  his  friend.  He  could  not  let 
the  man  be  robbed.  "You  say  your  wife  has  fre 
quently  sent  money  to  this  man?" 

"Why,  yes.  In  all,  it  must  be  four  or  five  hundred 
dollars."  " 

"Have  you  any  receipts?" 

He  turned  to  his  wife,  who,  now  plainly  worried, 
was  standing,  tapping  a  rich  oriental  rug  with  nervous 
feet:  "You  have,  haven't  you,  Bettina?  You  know 
I  told  you  to  be  sure " 

Bettina,  flushed,  still  more  ill  at  ease,  glanced  at  him, 
sullenly.  The  worry  underlying  the  unexcused  de 
fiance  on  her  face — no  one  had  accused  her  of  wrong 
doing — was  apparent  to  them  all.  Alston,  from  his 
long  practice  as  a  cross-examiner,  wise  in  estimating 
women  in  emergencies,  knew  that  she  stood  cornered 
in  some  lie. 

"I  have  no  receipts!"  she  snapped  viciously. 

"But  I  told  you " 

"Please  don't  assume  that  dictatorial  manner  toward 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       313 

me!"  She  looked  at  her  husband  with  fierce  an 
tagonism  in  her  eyes.  "It  is  entirely  unnecessary,  and 
it  does  not  become  you!"  Her  foot  tapped  the  rug 
with  added  viciousness. 

He  was  nonplussed.  "But,  Bettina,  you  know  I 
told  you " 

"Well,"  she  said  defiantly,  "you  may  as  well  know 
now  as  later.  I  haven't  sent  him  any  money !" 

"But  you  told  me  that  you  had  .  .  .  and  your  ac 
counts  of  your  expenditures,  which  you  showed  me, 
recorded " 

"What  of  it?    I  used  the  money  for  myself." 

Alston  caught  a  quick  glance  from  her  toward 
Sevigny,  who  now  was  standing,  white-faced,  tremu 
lous,  in  the  doorway  of  the  drawing-room.  As  well 
as  if  he  had  been  told  of  it  by  a  reliable  banker,  he 
knew  the  woman  had  been  giving  money  to  the  scared 
pianist. 

Hoffman  was  incredulous.  He  had  supplied  her, 
with  lavish  hands,  for  her  own  needs.  "Yourself! 
For  heaven's  sake — what  for?" 

For  a  moment  she  did  not  find  words.  Then: 
"What  for?  Did  you  imagine  I  could  get  along  with 
what  you  gave  me  ?  Did  you  expect  me  to  wear  cos 
tumes  made  of  calico,  as  they  do  ...  in  Belleville?" 

"A  young  and  pretty  woman,"  said  her  mother,  try 
ing  to  come  to  her  rescue,  "must  have  pretty  gowns." 

Hoffman  silenced  her  with  one  black  glance.  Then 
he  turned  to  his  wife.  "But  only  last  week  I  paid 
half-a-dozen  dressmakers'  bills,  one  of  them  of  five 
hundred  and  one  of  them  four  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 


314       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

lars!  At  this  rate,  you  would  spend  a  fortune  every 
year!" 

"When  she's  as  old  as  you  are,"  said  her  mother 
venomously,  "she  will  spend  much  less." 

"I  didn't  ask  your  opinion,  Madame!"  Hoffman 
thundered  at  her. 

Now  the  fat  woman  shrank  back,  really  frightened. 
This  tall  old  man  could  be  intensely  terrifying  when 
he  whirled  about  and  threw  his  words  out,  that  way. 
Barbie  could  have  told  her  that. 

"Don't  mind  him,  mother  dear."  Bettina  spoke 
protectingly,  and  swept  her  husband  with  a  scornful 
glance.  She  had  no  doubt  that  she  could  manage 
him,  even  if  it  proved  to  be  a  little  difficult.  "He 
does  not  seem  to  understand  that  I  have  a  right  to 
demand  a  great  deal  more  than  he  gives  me."  She 
spoke  almost  accusingly.  "He  does  not  seem  to 
realize  that  he  should  not  begrudge  me  a  few  paltry 
dresses. " 

Hoffman's  fury  blazed,  now,  at  them  both,  and,  to 
save  himself  from  saying  something  very  brutal,  he 
turned  and  strode  toward  Alston.  As  he  did  so  he 
caught  sight  of  the  pianist.  He  had  forgotten  the 
man's  presence. 

"You  here?     Begone!"  he  briefly  ordered. 

But  Sevigny  was  aroused.  His  Latin  blood  boiled 
fiercely. 

"What  have  these  sordid  details  to  do  with  a  sen 
sitive  nature,  such  as  hers?"  he  cried,  while  Hoffman 
paused,  to  gaze  at  him  in  dumb  surprise. 

The  pianist  marched  boldly  up  to  him  and  faced 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       315 

him  fiercely:  "Beast!  You  do  not  appreciate  her 
personality!" 

Hoffman's  face  grew  slowly  purple;  his  chest 
heaved.  Bettina  started  toward  them. 

"There  should  never  be  a  discord  in  her  life!" 
Sevigny  cried. 

Then,  as  Hoffman  started  toward  him,  he  drew  a 
handkerchief  from  a  tail-pocket  in  his  handsome  coat, 
flashed  it  in  the  air  in  front  of  him,  in  such  a  manner 
that  it  almost  snapped  in  Hoffman's  face,  whirled 
upon  his  heel,  not  hurriedly,  and,  with  much  dignity, 
stalked  out,  quite  unconscious  that  with  the  handker 
chief  had  come  an  envelope,  square,  perfumed,  sealed, 
addressed  to  him  in  the  handwriting  of  Frederick 
Hoffman's  wife. 

It  fell  almost  at  Alston's  feet,  but,  so  absorbed  was 
he  by  the  unpleasant  scene,  that  he  was  scarcely  con 
scious  of  it.  He  did  not  stoop  to  pick  it  up. 

Mrs.  Curtis  did  not  see  it.  Frightened,  she  followed 
the  composer. 

"If  you'll  excuse  me,  Fred,"  said  Alston  slowly, 
"I'll  go  downtown.  If  you  want  to  find  me,  you'll 
know  where  to  get  me,  after  dinner.  I've  arranged  to 
dine — with  an  old  friend."  He  refrained  from  say 
ing  that  the  friend  was  Murfree,  because  he  did  not 
wish  to  bring  into  the  conversation  the  man  who,  in 
nocently,  had  been  the  cause  of  introducing  into  Hoff 
man's  life  the  woman  who,  the  lawyer  now  felt  sure, 
had  wholly  wrecked  it. 

"All  right,  Alston,"  Hoffman  answered  gloomily. 
"And  write  a  letter  to  that  .  .  .  person,  will  you? 


316       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Give  him  anything  in  reason,  now;  but  make  it  clear 
that  I  must  never  hear  from  him  again." 

Alston  carelessly  picked  up  the  letter,  as  if  it  might 
have  been  something  he,  himself,  had  dropped.  With 
it  in  his  hand  he  left  the  room. 

Bettina  kept  scornful  eyes  on  him  until  he  disap 
peared,  then  turned  to  Fred  and  sneered.  Then  she 
strode  past  him  toward  the  door  of  her  own  room. 

Alone  with  her,  Hoffman's  anger  cooled.  "Bet 
tina!"  he  said,  somewhat  brokenly,  swayed  by  the  re 
action.  If  this  bubble  burst,  then  what  would  life 
have  left  for  him? 

She  stopped,  stood  rigid,  looked  at  him  with  icy 
eyes.  "Well,  what  is  it?" 

"Have  you  nothing  that  you  .  .  .  wish  to  say  to 
me?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of!"  Her  voice  was  full  of 
scorn. 

"Haven't  you  a  word  of  apology,  or  ...  explana 
tion?" 

She  threw  her  head  back  scornfully.  "Apology? 
Who?  I?  Explanation!  You  humiliate  me  before 
.  .  .  everyone  .  .  .  and  then  expect  me  to  apologize !" 

He  answered  dully.  "I  never  dreamed  that  you 
had  not  used  that  money  as  you  told  me  that  you  had. 
Otherwise,  I  should  not  have  said  what  I  did  before 
Alston.  Really,  Bettina,  as  far  as  money  is  con 
cerned  .  .  .  but  it  pains  me  to  think  that  you " 

"Of  course!"  she  cried  angrily.  "It  always  pains 
you  when  money  is  concerned!" 

This  hurt  him.     "That  is  not  true!    I  have  given 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       317 

gladly,  generously,  as  far  as  I  am  able.  I  have  been 
much  distressed — keenly — when  money  matters  have, 
of  late,  so  often  risen  in  discussion.  But  you  are  like 
a  child.  You  place  no  value  upon  money.  I  must 
remind  you,  dear,  that  our  expenses  far  exceed  our 
income. " 

He  sat  upon  the  chaise  tongue  and  held  his  hand 
out  to  her.  She  took  it  with  reluctance,  frowning 
deeply. 

"Bettina,  we  must  talk  this  over,  very  carefully. 
We  can  live  comfortably — very  comfortably — and  still 
economize  a  little." 

She  had  sunk  to  the  seat  beside  him,  but  very  far 
from  graciously.  Now  she  turned  her  head  away  from 
him,  as  if  disgusted.  "Economize!"  she  cried.  "For 
ever,  it's  economize!  I  was  brought  up  on  that  word. 
It's  been  nagged  at  me  ever  since  I  was  a  child.  And 
now,  I  think,  at  last,  that  I  have  a  rich  husband  and 
am  well  provided  for ;  but  no !  Still,  forever  and  for 
ever  the  same  word,  'economize !' ' 

"But,  my  dear,  it  must  be  done.  I  have  told  you 
that  my  son  is  soon  to  marry.  I  ...  must  provide 
for  him."  He  said  this  reluctantly.  He  had  planned 
to  tell  her  at  a  more  propitious  time. 

"How?"  she  said,  with  very  lively  interest,  for  the 
first  time  looking  at  him  squarely. 

"It  is  my  intention  to  turn  the  business  over  to  him. 
Of  course  he  will  pay  us  a  handsome  yearly  sum, 
but " 

This  angered  her  intensely,  instantly.  "So,  that's 
it!  You  are  to  retire  upon  a  pension!  And  the 


'young  gentleman'  will  pay  us  a  yearly  stipend  .  .  . 
enough  for  us  to  live  on  ...  if  we  ...  economise! 
A  delightful  prospect!  A  de-light- ful  prospect!" 

Passion  so  thrilled  in  her  voice  that  he  looked  at 
Jier  astonished. 

"But  I  tell  you  I  have  a  right  to  demand  more 
than  that!"  she  went  on,  the  words  rushing  from  her 
lips  in  scathing  anger.  "And  I  will  let  no  one  rob 
me  of  my  rights !  What  do  you  think  I  married  you 
for?  What  for?  That  I  should  be  deprived  of  every 
thing?" 

"Bettina!  What  are  you  deprived  of?"  He  rose 
and  stood  before  her.  His  eyes  were  losing  their 
pained  gentleness. 

She  brought  her  hands  down  at  her  sides  in  two 
fierce  blows  upon  the  cushions.  "Of  everything!" 
she  cried.  "Of  everything!  My  happiness!" 

He  literally  staggered  as  he  took  the  blow.  "Don't 
say  that,  Bettina!" 

She  felt  no  pity  for  him;  her  anger  was  too  great. 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  a  fury,  rose,  went  to 
the  piano,  stood  there,  tearing  into  bits  the  flowers  that 
hung  from  a  great  vase.  The  tapping  of  her  foot 
was  not  now  deadened  by  a  rug.  Upon  the  hardwood 
floor  her  slipper  beat  the  fast  tattoo  of  her  wrath. 

"I  ...  did  not  know,"  he  stammered,  deeply  hurt. 
"I — I  did  not  know  that  you  .  .  .  had  found  no  hap 
piness  with  me !  Bettina  .  .  .  is  this  .  .  .  true?" 

"You  should  have  known  it,  long  ago."  She  spoke 
as  if  impatient  of  more  silly  pretense. 

"  'I  .  .  .  should  have  known   it  long  ago!'  "   he 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       319 

quoted,  incredulously.  "Tell  me,  Bettina,  why  did 
you  marry  me?" 

She  spoke  as  if  she  did  not  think  it  really  mattered. 
"I  was  young,  inexperienced — oh,  some  things  are  be 
yond  human  calculation." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment  and  then 
caught  up  her  final  word,  repeating  it  very  slowly: 
"'Calculation!'  Yes!  That  is  the  word!" 

She  leaned  on  the  piano,  still  speaking  carelessly, 
almost  flippantly,  insultingly.  "I  was  young  ...  in 
experienced  .  .  .  and  hoped  that  .  .  .  well,  that  in 
the  course  of  time  I  should  become  .  .  .  accustomed 
to  you!" 

This  cut  into  his  soul.    "Oh,  I  see !    I  s  e  e  !" 

She  whirled  upon  him  as  upon  one  who  had  done 
her  an  irreparable  injury.  "You  should  have  known 
that  youth  .  .  .  and " 

"Go  on,  say  it!"  he  cried  bitterly.  "That  youth  and 
age " 

"Don't  go  together,"  she  completed,  cynically. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  left  the  room  without  an 
other  word.  In  the  hall  he  found  a  hat  and  coat  and 
put  them  on.  He  opened,  passed  through,  and  closed 
the  heavy  door  of  polished  copper,  rang  the  elevator- 
bell,  stepped  into  the  car,  when  it  came  presently,  and, 
stumbling  a  little  as  he  left  it,  stood  in  the  lower  hall 
way  almost  dazed. 

The  hallman  looked  at  him  with  sympathetic  curi 
osity.  He  liked  the  gray  old  man  and  pitied  him. 
He  had  often  watched  and  speculated  on  the  callers 
who  visited  the  Hoffman  flat  while  Hoffman  was 


320       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

away.  He  knew  far  more  about  them  than  the  man 
who  paid  the  rental  knew.  And  to-night  this  tenant 
seemed  so  old! 

Again  pausing  for  a  moment,  Hoffman  stood  in 
deep  reflection  upon  the  top  stair  of  a  flight  which,  by 
a  broad,  carved  stone  archway,  led  to  the  street.  Then 
he  turned  and  spoke  to  the  attendant. 

"I  ...  forgot  to  call  a  friend  up,"  he  said  slowly. 
"Is  there  a  telephone  down  here?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hoffman,  just  behind  the  elevator." 

Hoffman  went  around  the  cage  of  ornamental  iron 
and  was  astonished  when  he  found  booths  there,  in 
charge  of  a  young  girl.  Long  as  he  had  been  a  resi 
dent  in  the  house,  he  had  not  known  of  their  existence. 
Such  discoveries  always  startled  him,  ever  made  him 
homesick.  New  York  was  all  so  vast,  impersonal! 
Oftener  than  he  admitted  to  himself  he  yearned  back 
toward  the  old  Belleville  days,  when  he  had  had  neigh 
bors  who  were  curious  about  him  and  about  whom 
he  was  curious ! 

"Will  you  get  the  Holland  House  for  me?"  he 
asked  the  girl. 

"Forgot  to  call  from  upstairs,  did  you  Mr.  Hoff 
man?"  she  inquired  politely,  as  she  thrust  the  brass 
plug  in  and  out  of  a  mysterious  orifice.  "Step  into 
Number  One  booth.  I'll  have  them  for  you  in  a 
moment." 

When  she  had  connected  him  with  the  hotel  where 
Alston  was  a  guest,  he  asked  them  to  ring  up  his  old 
friend's  room. 

"Out,"  said  the  attendant,  another  girl,  and  also 
pleasant  voiced. 


THE  MASTER  OF  THE  HOUSE   321 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  Hoffman's  real  distress  was  plain 
in  the  three  words. 

"He  left  word  he'd  be  at  Mr.  Murfree's  studio,  on 
Eighth  Street,  if  anybody  called  him  up,"  the  operator 
volunteered.  "Wait,  I've  got  the  number  here." 

"Ah,  thank  you,"  Hoffman  said,  when  she  had  told 
him  what  it  was. 

He  decided  to  go  down  to  Murfree's  studio.  The 
artist  would  be  glad  to  see  him.  He  had  intended 
to  look  up  Murfree  immediately  after  he  took  up  resi 
dence  in  New  York,  but  Bettina  had  seemed  most  un 
willing  to  consent  to  it.  She  had  urged  that  minor 
artists  were  by  no  means  of  the  manner  of  the  friends 
whom  they  must  make.  But  now  he  would  go  down 
and  see  him;  it  would  cheer  him  up;  and,  too,  he 
must  see  Alston. 

It  was  after  eight  when  he  alighted  from  a  taxi 
in  the  unfamiliar  portion  of  the  town  in  which  the 
studio  was  located.  He  paid  the  man  and  made  an 
inquiry  on  the  ground  floor  as  to  where  to  go,  up 
stairs. 

When  he  paused  before  the  designated  door,  he 
heard  Alston's  voice  and  one  which  he  could  dimly 
recognize  as  that  into  which  the  voice  of  the  young 
Murfree  he  had  known  at  college  might  well  have 
developed.  Somehow  they  thrilled  him  with  a  sense 
of  comfort.  Old  friends!  Old  friends  are  best !  But 
he — how  far  had  he  adventured  from  old  friends? 
It  suddenly  flashed  through  his  mind  that  he  had — - 
ah,  deserted ! — the  best  old  friend  of  all ;  but  he  fought 
the  thought  away  from  him  and  knocked.  He  never 
let  himself  remember  Anna! 


822       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Come  in!"  a  voice  called  from  within. 

He  strode  into  the  room,  with  hand  outstretched. 
"Hello,  Murfree!"  he  exclaimed  with  a  cordiality  al 
most  pathetic. 

Murfree  looked  at  him  with  startled  eyes.  "Fred 
Hoffman!  Fritzie!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I've  been  intending  to  come  down  to  see  you  ever 
since  I've  been  in  New  York  City." 

"I'm — er — mighty  glad  to  see  you,  Fred,"  said  Mur 
free.  Hoffman  did  not  note  the  scared,  uneasy  look 
the  artist  cast  about  the  room  as  he  spoke. 

"Hello,  Alston,"  Hoffman  went  on,  urged  by  the 
reaction  from  his  gloom  into  a  rush  of  cordiality.  Old 
friends!  These  would  not  fail  him.  "They  said  at 
the  hotel  that  you  were  here." 

Upon  Alston's  face,  as  he  rose  to  greet  him,  was 
an  expression  hard  to  analyze.  Even  as  he  held  out 
his  hand,  he  threw  a  quick  glance  at  the  artist. 

This  time  Hoffman  noticed  it.  "Am  I  ...  intrud 
ing?"  He  felt  strangely  chilled.  Was  he  welcome 
nowhere?  In  his  own  house  he  was  not.  And  were 
these  old  friends  sorry  he  had  come  to  join  them? 

"Why,  no,  rFred ;  intruding ?  Certainly,  you're  not," 
said  Alston,  but  as  he  spoke  he  sent  another  quick 
glance  toward  their  host.  "Sit  down." 

Hoffman  determined  to  accept  such  hospitality  as 
came,  at  its  face  value.  "Wait  till  I  take  my  coat  off. 
Where  shall  I  hang  it?  On  the  floor?  It  would  be 
like  old  times  in  Murfree's  diggings!"  The  man's 
anxiety  for  something  pleasant  was  pathetic.  If  only 
these  two  would  be  jolly,  would  be  reminiscent,  would 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       323 

help  him  forget  the  scene  which  he  had  just  endured ! 

"I'll  take  it,"  Murfree  answered  nervously,  Hoff 
man  thought,  and  seized  it,  almost  before  his  arms 
were  free  of  it.  "Sit  down,"  he  urged,  and  pushed 
a  chair  out  hastily.  "Sit  down,  old  man,  sit  down. 
You  must  be  tired.  The  walk " 

"Came  in  a  taxi,  Murfree.  Don't  walk  much  in 
these  days.  Getting  old,  you  know,  though  I've  fought 
against  admitting  it!"  It  was  fine  to  be  here,  with 
these  two  old  friends!  Surely  it  would  help  him  to 
forget!  "Let  me  look  around  your  shanty."  How 
good  the  old-time  college  slang  was  tasting  on  his 
tongue!  "So  you  made  a  living  out  of  painting,  after 
all!  Let  me  see  some  of  your  work." 

"All  right,  old  man;  all  right.  Glad  to.  Damned 
glad  to  see  you !  You  sit  down  and  I'll  bring  out  the 
best  of  it.  Light's  rotten  anywhere  but  here!" 

"Sit  down?  Why  should  I?  I'm  not  as  old  as  that! 
Don't  you  take  a  bit  of  trouble.  Just  let  me  nose 
around  and  find  it." 

"No,  no,  Fred;  do  sit  down,"  said  Alston,  and,  be 
tween  them,  they  forced  him  into  a  chair  before  the 
fire. 

Again,  as  they  did  this,  Hoffman  seemed  to  catch  a 
sort  of  secret  glance  between  them,  and  was  puzzled 
by  it,  but  he  refused  to  let  it  make  him  feel  uncom 
fortable.  He  was  pathetically  anxious  to  be  welcomed. 
He  was  so  glad  to  be  with  them.  So  glad  to  contem 
plate  the  prospect  of  bright  talk  of  happy  days ! 

"Well,  if  I  sit  down,  old  Murfree's  got  to  bring  his 
pictures  here  for  me  to  look  at,"  he  said  gayly.  "I 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

won't  believe  he's  made  a  living  out  of  painting  till 
he  proves  it!"  He  laughed  heartily.  "As  soon  as  I 
get  back  my  breath  and  someone  gives  me  a  big  drink 
of  something  mellow,  we're  going  to  sing  'Auld  Lang 
Syne'  together.  Eh?" 

"Sure,  I'll  bring  'em  to  you,"  Murfree  agreed. 
"Get  down  into  a  chair.  You're  far  too  old  to  stand 
around.  I'm  six  months  younger.  And  it's  youth 
that " 

"For  God's  sake,"  said  Hoffman,  fervently,  "don't 
you  begin  to  talk  about  my  age!" 

"I  was  talking  of  my  own,"  said  Murfree.  "You 
sit  down.  And  I'd  kind  of  like  to  try  some  of  the  old 
songs.  My  voice  is  very  likely  cracked,  but " 

But,  though  the  little  scene  was  carried  on  as  if  in 
jest,  the  feeling  was  in  Hoffman's  heart  that  some 
thing  had  embarrassed  his  two  friends.  It  was  with 
real  difficulty  that  he  put  it  from  him  as  ridiculous  and 
smiled  cordially  at  Alston  as  Murfree  vanished  in 
the  shadows  at  the  dim,  and  dirty,  very  large  old 
room's  far  end. 

A  moment  later  he  was  conscious  that  a  light  be 
hind  him  had  been  suddenly  turned  off. 

"Here,"  he  cried.  "Stop  that!  Don't  you  try  to 
make  me  think  your  pictures  are  worth  while  by  show 
ing  them  to  me  in  such  a  gloom  that  I  can't  see  how 
bad  they  are!" 

"They  need  gloom,  most  of  them,"  Alston  com 
mented  dryly. 

"You  bring  them  on,  and  leave  the  lights  just  as 
they  are!"  commanded  Hoffman. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       325 

"All  right,  Fred,"  said  the  artist,  and  instantly  be 
gan  a  rummaging,  which  sounded  as  if  he  were  turn 
ing  over  many  canvases. 

And  that,  indeed,  was  just  what  he  was  doing.  With 
feverish  haste  he  was  reversing  canvases  in  all  parts 
of  the  room.  The  few  which  he  set  hurriedly  aside 
to  show  to  Hoffman  were  not  among  his  best — but 
they  were  the  safest. 

In  his  haste  to  hide  some  and  drag  out  others, 
which,  because  they  were  inferior,  had  been  standing 
in  remote  and  hidden  corners,  he  tripped  upon  a  rug 
and  fell — fell  heavily. 

Alston  and  Hoffman  both  sprang  to  their  feet.  The 
artist  lay  quite  motionless  upon  the  floor. 

"Heavens,  Murfree,  are  you  hurt?"  said  Alston, 
running  in  to  him. 

Murfree  lay  across  the  canvas  which  he  had  been 
moving — a  large  picture,  unframed,  on  a  stretcher, 
now  face  downwards. 

"Here,  let  me  help  you,  Alston,"  Hoffman  cried. 
"See?  He  cut  his  head  upon  the  corner  of  that  easel! 
By  George,  it's  bleeding!  Where's  the  water  in  this 
place?" 

"Over  in  the  corner  there.    Bring  a  wet  towel." 

Hoffman  hurried  on  the  errand.  When  he  re 
turned,  Alston  had  turned  the  artist  over. 

"Lift  him,  while  I  pull  this  picture  out  from  under 
him,"  cried  Hoffman;  "we'll  leave  him  on  the  floor 
till  we  find  out  what  has  happened,  but  that  stretcher 
hurts  his  back." 

Alston,  forgetting  all  else  in  the  excitement  of  this 


326       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

accident,  did  as  he  was  told,  and  Hoffman  pulled 
the  picture  out  from  under  the  unconscious 
man.  But  he  left  it  lying  on  the  floor,  face  down 
ward. 

"He's  coming  around,  all  right,"  said  Alston. 
"Help  me  to  get  him  to  that  couch." 

They  managed  it,  and,  as  Murfree  slowly  regained 
consciousness  beneath  their  ministrations,  Hoffman 
stepped  back  to  raise  the  fallen  picture.  As  he  did  so 
the  light  fell  full  on  it. 

He  gasped.  Before  his  eyes  he  saw  a  beautiful 
white  slave  girl,  her  wrists  manacled  and  chained.  An 
old  man,  who  held  the  chain  which  joined  a  leathern 
belt  about  her  waist,  was  dragging  her  out  of  an  East 
ern  auction  mart;  she  was  pulling  back,  rebelliously, 
and,  with  one  loosely  linked  and  slender  arm,  was 
appealing  to  a  youth  who  stood,  dejected,  in  the  door 
of  a  bazar. 

"Bettina!"  he  said,  startled. 

"God!"  breathed  Alston. 

The  reviving  Murfree  started  up,  richly  cursing. 

"Murfree  .  .  .  Alston  .  .  ."  said  the  shocked  and 
sickened  man,  "what  .  .  .  does  that  mean  ?  .  .  .  That 
hellish  picture!" 

"Why " 

"What  does  it  mean?  Tell  me!  It  is  my  right 
to  know!" 

With  difficulty,  trying  to  make  it  seem  less  horrid, 
constantly  exclaiming  that  she  was  a  good  girl,  even  if 
she  had  posed  for  him,  Murfree  told  the  miserable 
story. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       327 

"I  never  knew  just  how  she  posed  .  .  .  until  to 
night,"  said  Alston,  miserably.  "I  never  would 
have " 

"God!    Why  did  you  let  her  come  to  us?" 

"She  was  a  good  girl,"  Murfree  still  protested.  "I 
always  tried  to  help  her.  I — I  loved  her  mother, 
once." 

"That  .  .  .  terrible  old  woman!"  This  from  Hoff 
man's  harsh,  unnatural  voice. 

"  She  was  not  terrible  in  those  days ;  and,  in  memory 
of  them,  I  tried  to  help  the  daughter.  I  wanted  her 
to  get  out  of  New  York.  There  was  a  damned  mu 
sician — an  infernal  young  pianist " 

"Was  his  name  Sevigny — Theodore  Sevigny?" 
Hoffman  asked. 

"Yes;  that's  the  fellow.  I  was  afraid  for  her  be 
cause  of  him.  I  wanted  her  to  leave  New  York. 
I  ...  meant  well  enough." 

"My  God!"  said  Hoffman,  brokenly.  Then  his 
voice  rose,  tremulous  with  anger:  "He's  with  her 
now,  no  doubt;  he's  always  with  her!  Fool!  Fool! 
Poor,  blind  fool  that  I  have  been!" 

Alston  stood  in  deep  reflection.  The  thought  which 
had  occurred  to  him  was  at  first  repellent.  But  now, 
if  ever,  was  the  time  to  save  his  friend.  He  had  not 
yet  examined  the  letter  he  had  picked  up  at  the  flat. 
He  did  not  know  what  it  contained.  It  might  be 
wholly  innocent;  upon  the  other  hand  it  might  be 
otherwise — and  who  could  tell  what  witch-power  of 
cajolery  the  woman  might  have  over  Fred?  Now 
that  he  was  really  in  battle  against  her  could  he,  Al- 


ston,  who  despised  her,  who  for  years  had  loved  in 
secret  the  sweet  woman  she  had  wronged,  refrain 
from  giving  him  what  might  be  not  only  useful  as  a 
weapon,  but  something  which  would  spur  him  on  to 
contest  if  his  anger  cooled,  or  if  her  fascination  still 
had  charm  for  him? 

"Fred,"  said  he,  slowly,  as  he  handed  him  the  let 
ter,  "here  is  something  which  Sevigny  dropped.  I 
don't  know  what  is  in  it.  But  she  addressed  the  en 
velope  ...  to  him.  It  feels  like  .  .  .  money?" 

Hoffman  took  it,  stared  at  it,  and  opened  it.  In 
the  envelope  were  three  one-hundred-dollar  bills  and 
a  note,  also  in  his  wife's  handwriting.  He  glanced  at 
it.  It  was  enough. 

He  glared  about  him  somewhat  wildly,  saw  his  hat 
and  coat,  seized  them,  hurried  from  the  room.  It  was 
fifteen  minutes  later  when  a  horrid  thought  occurred 
to  Murfree. 

"Heavens,  Alston!  Will  he  kill  him?  Will  he  kill 
them  both  if  he  is  with  her?" 

"I  must  get  up  there,"  Alston  exclaimed,  panic- 
stricken  at  the  thought.  "Poor  chap!  He's  suffered 
enough  without  winding  up  with  that!" 

Hoffman  promised  the  first  taxi-driver  whom  he 
found  a  double  fee  for  haste,  and  rushed  back  to  his 
apartment-house  at  reckless  speed.  He  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  what  he  meant  to  do.  The  thought  of 
murder,  which  at  first  came  to  him,  he  put  quickly 
from  him,  because  of  what  a  tragedy  in  which  he 
figured  would  mean  to  Beatrice  and  Harry.  He  had 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       329 

not  thought  about  them,  very  much,   of  late.     He 
surely  must  not  leave  them  such  a  heritage ! 

But  it  was  with  a  grim,  hard  face  that  he  went  into 
the  ornate  apartment,  where,  in  his  madness,  he  had 
hoped  to  find  true  happiness,  despite  the  fact  that  he 
had  sought  the  boon  through  devious  ways,  with  ruth 
less  inconsideration  for  the  rights  and  happiness  of 
others.  That  he  had  done  this  burst  upon  him  for 
the  first  time  now.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  remorse 
for  his  own  sins. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Hoffman?"  he  asked  Rosa,  in  a 
tone  that  frightened  her.  He  had  had  to  ring  for 
his  admission.  In  his  excitement  he  had  gone  out 
without  his  keys. 

"In  the  dining-room,"  she  stammered.  "The  three 
.  .  .  young  gentlemen  are  here — Mr.  Sevigny  and  the 
others." 

"Tell  her  to  come  to  me,  at  once." 

"But " 

"Tell  her  to  come!" 

She  entered,  scornfully,  and  stood  looking  at  him. 

"Bettina!" 

"Well!" 

"Bettina,  did  you  mean  what  you  said*  be  fore  I  left 
the  house,  an  hour  or  two  ago  ?  I  .  .  .  have  especial 
reasons  for  desiring  to  make  sure." 

"Mean  it?  Of  course  I  mean  it!"  she  said,  coldly, 
arrogantly.  He  must  learn  that  it  would  be  more 
comfortable  if  he  took  a  different  attitude  toward  her. 
She  would  show  him  that  she  was  not  Anna  Hoffman, 
to  be  bulldozed  into  silence,  or  frightened  into  carry- 


330       THE   MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE 

ing  out  his  wishes  when  her  own  ran  counter  to 
them  I 

"Use  your  own  common-sense,"  she  went  on,  bit 
terly.  "You'll  admit  that  you're  not  exactly  the  sort 
of  man  to  inspire  a  romantic  passion  in  a  girl  like  me ! 
And  now  you  are  refusing  to  give  me  anything  in 
place  of  it!  It  would  be  the  least  thing  that  you 
could  do." 

She  could  not  make  quite  sure  of  the  expression  on 
his  face ;  the  light  was  behind  him.  But  she  imagined 
it  must  be  a  frightened  and  submissive  look.  Of 
course  he  could  not  stand  out  long  against  her.  It 
was  naturally  a  certainty  that  he  had  come  to  her  to 
sue  for  peace.  She  must  take  full  advantage  of  it. 

He  did  not  reply ;  she  thought  this  fact  encouraging. 

"So  ...  don't  make  that  foolish  arrangement  for 
Harry  with  the  business!"  she  went  on.  "And  don't 
be  everlastingly  preaching  economy  to  me  .  .  .  and 
cutting  down  expenses!" 

She  had  not  the  least  idea  that  to  say  these  things 
was  the  most  unwise  thing  which  she  had  ever  done, 
in  all  her  life;  she  had  not  the  slightest  thought  that 
he  had  come  there  to  accuse,  not  to  accept  criticism. 

"I  warn  you  ...  I  won't  stand  it!"  she  said  an 
grily.  "I  won't  stand  it!  ...  And  the  sooner  you 
make  sure  of  that  the  better  we  shall  get  along  to 
gether." 

He  said  absolutely  nothing,  which  nonplussed  her, 
but  did  not  dismay  her.  She  argued  that  her  ulti 
matum  must  have  dazed  him. 

"I  think  I've  made  myself  clear,"  she  added,  sneer- 
ingly. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       331 

He  spoke,  now,  and  with  the  first  tone  of  his  voice 
she  knew  that  she  had  been  in  error. 

"Yes,  quite  clear,"  said  he,  "and  I,  also,  must  make 
things  very  clear!  I  wish  to  tell  you " 

She  was  frightened — and  her  friends  were  in  the 
dining-room.  They  had  been  drinking  his  best  liquors 
merrily.  She  was  sorry  she  had  taken  just  that  atti 
tude.  Still,  she  could  manage  him,  all  right,  of 
course. 

"Not  just  now,"  she  interrupted,  trying,  when  too 
late,  to  placate  him.  "We'll  talk  it  over  to-morrow." 

She  turned  as  if  to  go  away,  but  he  caught  her 
arm  and  held  her  back.  She  had  surely  been  mis 
taken  in  her  method.  It  was  a  terrifying,  almost  pain 
ful,  grip  which  he  took  of  her  arm. 

"Not  to-morrow,"  he  said  sternly.  "Here  and  now 
we  are  going  to  understand  each  other — you  and  I." 

"But,  Fred,  my  friends  are  waiting!  Let  me  go." 
Her  tone  was  definitely  pleading.  All  the  arrogance 
had  gone  from  it. 

"Let  them  wait  .  .  .  those  parasites  that  you  call 
friends  .  .  .  those  hypocrites  who  come  here  to  make 
love  to  you  and  fatten,  while  they  sneer  at  me!" 

"Oh!  ...     Oh!  .  .  ." 

"I  won't  have  them 'here!    Tell  them  to  go!" 

"But " 

"I  am  the  master  of  this  house;  not  you,  nor  they! 
Tell  them  to  go,  or  I  shall  tell  them  for  you!"  He 
started  toward  the  door. 

She  rushed  to  intercept  him,  and  stood  panting  in 
his  path,  as  madly  angry  as  a  wounded  tigress.  She 


332       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

expressed  her  wrath  in  vicious  sneers,  and  harsh,  sar 
castic  laughter  as  she  spoke.  "Oh,  so  you  intend  to 
regulate  my  life,  do  you?  To  choose  my  friends  for 
me !  Do  you  imagine  I  intend  to  lead  the  dead  exist 
ence  which  satisfied  the  former  Mrs.  Hoffman?" 

He  spoke  quickly,  sternly:  "Don't  speak  her 
name!" 

"Why  not?  Has  she  suddenly  become  a  saint  in 
your  eyes?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  and  I  have  been  in  Murfree's  studio 
to-night!" 

This  shocked  her  horribly.  It  was  a  wholly  unex 
pected  blow.  "Fred  !" 

"I  see  the  truth.  I  know,  now,  what  I've  done! 
And  neither  you  nor  I  ...  we  are  not  fit  ...  to 
speak  her  name.  You!  At  last  I  know  what 
you " 

"Hush!  Not  so  loud!"  she  urged,  in  an  agony. 
"They'll  hear  you,  Fred !  Please  don't." 

"Let  them  hear!"  His  voice  rose  fiercely  until  it 
rumbled  through  the  place  like  thunder.  "I'd  like  to 
shout  it  so  that  all  the  world  would  hear!  I'd  like 
to  warn  all  men  against  such  women  as  you!" 

She  ran  to  him  and  clung  to  him.  "Fred,  don't! 
Come,  Fred!  Let's  not  quarrel!" 

Not  roughly,  but  almost  with  disgust,  with  a  ges 
ture  of  finality,  he  thrust  her  hands  away. 

"Listen  to  me,  Fred!"  Again  she  clasped  her  arms 
about  his  neck.  "Don't  you  love  me,  Fred?" 

He  shook  her  clinging  body  from  him,  as  if  he  felt 
it  to  be  a  contamination. 


"I'VE   DONE    WITH   YOU.  .  .  .GO!" 


p.  333. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       333 

"No!"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  think  I'm  still  the 
poor,  mad  fool  whom  you  can  twist  and  bend?  No! 
Your  power  over  me  is  dead!  It  is  you,  yourself, 
who  have  destroyed  it  ...  and  so  go!  Go  to  your 
.  .  .  friends,  in  there.  Go  to  your  composer,  who 
has  fattened  on  my  substance  ...  go  to  your  lover!" 

This  roused  her  from  her  trance  of  fear,  a  little. 
"How  dare  you  accuse  me " 

He  drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket,  deliberately 
tore  the  envelope  wide  open,  took  the  money  from  it, 
tucked  it  in  his  pocket,  and  threw  the  written  sheet 
and  mutilated  envelope  upon  the  table  at  her  side. 

She  shrank  back,  almost  in  collapse. 

"How  dare  I?"  He  spoke,  now,  with  deadly  calm. 
"That!  And  many  other  things.  Have  I  not  told 
you  that  I  spent  the  evening  with  your  old  employer, 
Murfree?  I  see  through  you  now — see  through  and 
through  you,  down  to  your  shabby  and  bedraggled 
soul!  You  .  .  .  the  woman  who  lies  and  deceives! 
The  woman  who  steals  from  her  husband  to  give  to 
her  lover!  .  .  .  The " 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  your  lover!  Someone  must  pay  the  price, 
since  he  cannot!  Well,  I  have  paid  it  ...  the  re 
spect  of  my  friends,  the  love  of  my  wife  and  children! 
They've  all  been  offered  up  for  you!"  Now  his 
wrath  and  horror  reached  a  frenzy.  "I've  paid!  I've 
paid!  But  now  go  back  to  your  friends!  Go  back 
to  your  composer  and  your  trade!  Lie  .  .  .  deceive 
.  .  .  betray!  .  .  .  I've  done  with  you  .  .  .  Go!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

When  Frederick  Hoffman's  eyes  opened  they  saw 
the  white  walls  of  a  hospital  room  surrounding  him. 
A  nurse  was  gently  bathing  his  forehead  with  a  cool 
ing  lotion,  a  physician  stood  beside  him,  and  Alston's 
sympathetic  eyes  were  fixed  on  him  from  the  bed's 
foot.  His  head  was  heavily  bandaged. 

He  tried  to  form  a  question. 

"You  fell,"  said  Alston,  anticipating  his  endeavor. 
"You  fell.  Just  dizziness ;  not  a  real  stroke,  old  man. 
It's  been  a  tight  squeak  for  you;  but  you're  all  right, 
now.  I've  been  a  very  busy  man,  with  Murfree  and 
you  both." 

"How  is  Murfree?" 

"He's  all  right,  now." 

"You'd  better  telephone  .  .  .  Bettina." 

"Everything  has  been  attended  to,  old  man. 
You've  been  here  a  week,  you  know." 

"A  week!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  physician.  "You  must  not  talk 
much.  You've  turned  the  corner  splendidly.  We're 
going  out  now,  Mr.  Alston  will  come  back  to-morrow. 
You  mustn't  worry." 

Alston  nodded  reassuringly,  smiling  his  peculiarly 
sweet  smile. 

"I'm  going  to  let  you  have  a  good  long  talk  with 
334 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE   HOUSE       335 

him  to-morrow,"  said  the  doctor,  soothingly.  "In 
the  meantime  you  are  in  fine  shape  for  a  really  rest 
ful  sleep.  Your  temperature  has  dropped  splen 
didly." 

"But " 

"Wait  until  to-morrow.  You'll  be  all  right  then. 
Now  get  some  sleep." 

Beckoning  to  Alston,  the  doctor  left  the  room;  the 
nurse,  smiling  and  refusing  to  reply  to  questions, 
made  Hoffman  very  comfortable;  he  slept. 

Alston  found  himself  much  puzzled  as  to  how  best 
to  explain  the  situation  when  he  went  to  him  next 
day.  He  determined  to  let  events  shape  up  as  best 
they  would. 

"How  are  things,  at  the  ...  flat?"  asked  Hoff 
man. 

Alston  hesitated.  "Well,"  said  the  lawyer,  after 
a  little  thoughtful  hesitation,  "I  went  there,  this 
morning  and  had  such  of  your  things  as  I  had  saved 
from  the  sale  boxed  up  and " 

"'Saved  from  the  sale?'" 

"Yes;  Mrs.  Hoff — your  wife  .  .  .  you  know 
you'd  put  the  whole  thing  in  her  name  .  .  .  well, 
she  thought  she'd  have  a  sale,  and  ...  go  away  for 
— er — a  little  while." 

"Bettina  ...  go  away?  When  is  she  coming  here 
to  see  me?" 

"I  don't  think  she'll  have  time,  Fred,  to  stop  in 
here,  at  all.  You  see " 

"Alston,  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

"Perhaps  I'd  better.     You've  been  out  of  business 


836       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

quite  a  while,  now.  It's  been  your  lucky  period,  old 
man.  All  your  troubles  have  been  cured,  as  well  as 
that  concussion  of  the  brain  your  fall  gave  you." 

"Alston,  for  God's  sake  -  " 

"Yes,  yes,  old  man.  You've  been  very,  very  lucky. 
You  see,  I  took  the  news  of  your  unfortunate  acci 
dent  to  Mrs.  —  er  -  " 

"Bettina?" 

"Yes.  Somehow,  I  never  could  get  used  to  calling 
her  —  er  -  She  was  not  as  much  —  well,  Fred,  she 
didn't  feel  as  deeply  as  I  thought  she  should,  and  her 
mother  —  how  I  hate  that  damned  old  woman,  Fred! 
I  think  she'd  like  to  marry  me.  My  God!  She  be 
gan  courting  me!  What  a  place  it  was  .  .  .  your 
—  er  —  flat.  I  can't  call  it  your  'home.'  " 

"Alston,  it  never  was  a  home  to  me." 

"No;  I  fancy  not.  Well,  we  had  quite  a  little  con 
versation.  Rather  spirited  it  was,  old  man.  Bettina 
said  you  had  denounced  her,  told  her  you  were 
through  with  her." 

"I  had,  but  -  " 

"I  was  pleased  to  hear  it,  and  I  said  so.  Well, 
the  upshot  was  that  it  developed,  as  we  talked,  that 
you  had  not  come  up  to  —  er  —  her  expectations.  She 
said  rather  frankly  that  you  had  not  been  as  ... 
generous  ...  as  she  had  hoped  you  would  be." 

"Generous!     Why  -  " 

"I    know.     Well,    that    poor    creature,    the   pian 


"Sevigny?" 

".Yes,  Fred.     He's  sold  an  opera,  at  last     God 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       337 

save  the  audiences!  He  came  in  to  tell  her  of  it 
while  I  talked  with  her,  and  ...  I  didn't  like  the 
way  she  took  the  news.  You  see,  you  were  here,  in 
jured.  And  you  know  what  we  learned  about  them 
from  old  Murfree.  Well,  I  spoke  up  rather  sharply. 
And "  He  hesitated. 

"Go  on,  Alston." 

"Well,  Fred  .  .  .  man,  dear,  how  I  hate  to  tell 
you!" 

"Go  on,  Alston."  Hoffman's  face  was  pitiable. 
All  the  old-time  arrogance  seemed  to  have  gone  out 
of  it,  with  the  disappearance  of  the  florid  flush  of 
health.  It  was  not  only  pale  beneath  its  bandages, 
but  a  hint  of  pathos  had  been  substituted  for  its 
cold,  hard  pride. 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  what  she  said," 
the  lawyer  finally  determined,  "except  to  make  it 
clear  to  you  that  she  admits  she  married  you  for  no 
cause  save  your  money;  that  she  loved  Sevigny  all 
the  time;  that,  now  that  he  has  been  successful,  she 
prefers  his  company  to  yours." 

"Good  God!" 

"Yes;  God  is  good,  or  He  would  not  have  offered 
you  this  chance  of  escape.  I'm  afraid  the  woman's 
not  been  very  square  with  you,  old  man — not 
very  square.  This  man  has  been  with  her  a  lot, 
and " 

Hoffman's  big  frame  stiffened  in  the  small,  white 
bed.  "I  ...  know!" 

"You've  had  two  narrow  escapes  instead  of  one. 
first  was  from  a  fracture  of  the  skull,  the  second 


338       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

was  from  a  fracture  of  the  heart.  You  see,  you  were 
certain  to  be  shocked  by  some  terrific  scandal,  even  if 
she  hadn't  left." 

"Left?" 

Alston  stood  and  blinked  at  nothing,  as  he  had 
a  way  of  doing  at  such  times  as  other  men  would 
have  selected  for  theatricals;  he  blinked  at  nothing, 
and  was  very  mild  and  unimpressive.  "Yes,  Fred; 
she's  gone  off  with  her  Theodore." 

Hoffman  shivered  in  his  bed. 

"You  always  were  a  lucky  dog!" 

"Alston " 

"I  had  them  rather  foul,  old  man.  I  shall  never 
tell  you  \all  about  it.  She's  signed  back  what  you 
gave  her.  I  saw  to  it.  And  the  composer  really  de 
serves  what  he  will  get.  I  never  knew  a  man  who 
needed  drastic  punishment  much  worse.  He'll  get  it, 
Fred;  he'll  get  it.  It  ought  to  be  a  little  satisfaction 
to  reflect  that  the  man  whom  she  elected  to  run 
off  with  was  the  man  who  most  deserved  such  pun 
ishment." 

"Old  man " 

Again  the  lawyer  interrupted  him,  with  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  He  bent  above  the  bed  a  face 
full  of  compassion;  but  there  was  rejoicing  in  it, 
too. 

"Don't  talk  about  it,  Fred.  It's  ended.  Just  re 
member  that.  It's  a  blank  wall.  You  cannot  climb 
it.  Your  past,  with  her,  is  shut  off  as  completely  as 
if  it  had  been  but  a  dream  from  which  you  have 
awakened." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       389 

The  man's  flushed  face,  in  which  anger  battled 
with  chagrin,  was  terribly  contorted.  "I'll " 

Alston  stopped  him.  "No,  you  won't  You'll  lie 
here  and  get  well,  as  soon  as  possible.  You  big, 
blundering  old  Fritz!  You  don't  know  how  to  man 
age  anyone  outside  of  business,  least  of  all  yourself. 
You've  made  a  mess  of  things."  The  lawyer 
laughed  a  strange,  slight  laugh.  "I'm  going  to  take 
charge  of  you  from  now  on.  You  need  a  manager. 
I'm  it." 

For  a  long  time  Hoffman  lay  in  a  blank  silence, 
looking  up  at  the  white  ceiling  of  the  little  hospital 
room. 

"Will  it  be  all  right,  Fred?  Are  you  going  to  let 
me  manage  you?  I've  got  some  plans." 

"What  are  they?" 

"Go  to  thunder!  I  won't  tell  you.  If  I  manage 
you,  I  manage  you.  If  I  don't,  I  wash  my  hands  of 
you.  I  shan't  be  able  to,  but  I  shall  try." 

"All  .  .  .  right  .  .  .  Alston." 

They  were  busy  days  which  followed  for  the  law 
yer;  for  his  friend  they  were  strange  periods  of 
self -appraisal  and  of  difficult  adjustment  to  the  new 
valuation  which  he  found  himself  compelled  to  make 
in  the  face  of  an  enforced  enlightenment  He  knew 
agony  at  last;  for  the  condemnation  of  himself  which 
now  swept  over  Frederick  Hoffman  was  not  an  emo 
tion  to  be  shaken  off,  impatiently,  as  the  prickings 
of  his  conscience  had  been,  in  the  past.  If  Alston 
had  condemned  him,  then,  probably,  his  natural  an- 


340       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

tagonism  would  have  been  aroused  to  fight  for  his 
stiff  pride,  to  battle  for  the  justification  of  the  acts 
which,  in  his  heart,  he  knew  had  been  worth  punish 
ment,  and  of  which  he  knew  his  present  pain,  humili 
ation,  and  confusion  formed  that  penalty.  But  Al 
ston  spoke  not  one  condemnatory  word. 

He  shrewdly,  sadly  guessed  what  Hoffman's  suf 
fering  must  be,  and  left  him  to  the  torture  of  the 
flagellations  certain  to  be  laid  upon  him  by  his  own 
strong,  better  nature. 


Three  months  had  passed,  and  the  torture  of  the 
second  divorce  trial  had  been  stolidly  endured,  be 
fore  the  lawyer,  who  had  practically  lived  in  New 
York  .City  during  the  period  of  litigation,  left  town 
for  a  brief  period,  and,  returning,  advised  his  friend 
to  do  likewise. 

"You've  had  too  much  of  New  York  City,  Fred," 
he  urged.  "You're  not  getting  any  better  here,  and 
the  doctor  says  you  won't.  I'm  going  to  take  you 
to  a  smaller  place — say  Stillfield.  You  would  be  bet 
ter  off  in  Belleville,  but " 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,  Alston!"  The  man  seemed  sin 
gularly  broken  as  he  made  this  protest. 

"No,  I  suppose  you  couldn't  .  .  .  but,  wouldn't 
you  be  glad  to  see  the  youngsters,  though?  Harry 
and  Beatrice " 

It  seemed  like  needless  cruelty,  and  Hoffman 
winced  before  it.  "Don't,  Alston!  God,  you  know 
how  much  I'd  like  to  see  them!  But " 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       341 

"  Yes ;  I  suppose  so. "  Alston  seemed  to  be  far  less 
considerate  to-day  than  usual.  "But  you'll  never 
get  quite  well  in  New  York  City.  The  associa 
tions " 

"Alston,  this  town  is  a  vast  purgatory  to  me!  It's 
terrible  to  sit  here,  idle,  with  nothing  in  the  world 
to  do  but  think  .  .  .  think  .  .  .  think  of " 

"I  know,  Fred.  Well,  I've  arranged  to  have  you 
go  to  Stillfield  if  you  care  to.  It's  a  town  not  unlike 
Belleville.  And " 

"I  know  Stillfield.     I'd  go  crazy  there." 

"Well,  you'll  go  crazy  in  New  York.  You're  not 
picking  up,  Fred,  although  the  doctor  says  you're 
physically  fit  again.  Now,  there  at  Stillfield — why, 
it's  close  by  Belleville,  don't  you  see?  And  perhaps 
you  might  do  something  there  to  help  along  things 
at  the  factory.  It  would  not  be  too  far  for,  say, 
Valentine,  to  go  to  see  you,  now  and  then,  and  get 
the  benefit  of  your  advice.  I  don't  suppose  you'd 
care  to  have  your  son " 

"Care  to  have  him!  Alston!  With  what  bitter 
ness  I've  yearned  to  have  a  glimpse  of  Harry,  Bea 
trice,  and " 

"Don't  say  Anna,  Fred.  Surely  you  would  not 
care  for  a  sight  of  Anna!" 

"No,  because  the  scorn  with  which  her  eyes  would 
fill  at  sight  of  me  would  be  far  more  than  I  could 
bear.  But " 

A  light  of  triumph  for  an  instant  flashed  in  the 
lawyer's  usually  mild  blue  eyes,  but  he  very  quickly 
quenched  it. 


"I  don't  believe  she'd  look  at  you  with  scorn,  Fred; 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  I'm  not  asking 
you  to  go  to  Belleville.  Stillfield  is  the  place.  You 
can  rest  up  there,  spend  a  lot  of  time  out-doors,  con 
sult  with  Valentine,  and  get  your  mind  in  healthier 
shape.  You're " 

"I  know.  You  think  I'm  worrying.  That's  not 
the  word,  old  man.  I'm  hating  myself  into  the  grave. 
I  know  it.  I  am  well,  physically,  although  I  totter, 
still,  upon  my  feet  when  I  walk  half  a  block.  But, 
oh,  my  soul  is  sick !  Sick  with  disgust  at  what  I've 
done,  old  man!  Sick  .  .  .  sick  .  .  .  sick  with  a 
black  disgust!" 

"Well,  Stillfield  will  do  you  good." 

There  was  little  of  the  old,  self-reliant  Hoffman  in 
the  man  who  said,  submissively,  in  answer:  "All 
right,  Alston.  Do  what  you  think  best." 

It  was  early  on  a  winter  evening  when  they  reached 
the  quiet  village,  smaller,  more  diffuse  than  Belle 
ville,  and  Alston  took  his  weary  and  weak  friend  to 
the  hotel.  ''Rest  up  here,  a  little  while,  Fred,"  he 
suggested.  "I'm  not  asking  you  to  live  in  such  a 
place,  remember.  I've  got  a  place  picked  out  for 
you.  While  you're  resting  I  shall  go  and  make  things 
ready  for  you.  See  that  everything's  all  right,  you 
know. " 

Hoffman  nodded,  not  very  deeply  interested.  He 
did  not  even  send  his  dull  eyes  round  the  dingy  sit 
ting-room  to  which  the  lawyer  had  conducted  him. 

Alston  hurried  to  a  quiet  house,  embowered  in 
trees,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  village,  directly  on 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       343 

the  trolley-line  which  ran  to  Belleville,  fifteen  miles 
away,  and  when  Beatrice  met  him  at  the  door,  with 
the  statement  that  old  Barbie  was  engaged  upon 
the  basting  of  a  roast,  and  could  not  leave  the  kitchen, 
he  smiled  with  a  serenity  unusual  even  on  his  calm, 
good-natured  face. 

"Well,  surely,  it's  a  privilege  to  have  you  let  me 
in.  I've  just  come  to  tell  you  that  my  friend  came 
down  with  me,  as  I  wrote  you  I  half  hoped  he  would, 
and  is  now  up  at  the  hotel.  It's  so  good  of  your 
mother  to  let  me  bother  you  with  strangers." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Alston!     You  know  that  anything  you 

ool, » 

do  IV 

"All  right,  Beatrice,  I  understand.  How's  the  pic 
ture  frame  we  mended?" 

"Come  see?"  She  led  him  to  a  portrait  of  her 
father,  and  pointed  to  a  certain  part  of  the  old  frame. 
"It's  absolutely  perfect." 

He  examined  it  with  care,  and  then  turned  trium 
phantly  to  her.  "What  did  I  tell  you?  What  did  I 
tell  you?  My  cement  ...  it  will  glue  anything.  I 
defy  you  to  find  any  sign  that  it  was  ever  broken!" 

She  smiled  at  him  with  real  affection.  He  had 
been  their  stay  through  many  dark  and  dismal  days. 
"You  were  quite  right.  It's  wonderful." 

He  beamed  on  her  with  the  fine  feeling  which  soft 
hearted  bachelors,  denied  the  joy  of  children  of  their 
own,  sometimes  achieve  for  those  of  friends.  "It's 
a  specialty  of  mine — patching  up  the  broken  bits  .  .  . 
of  life." 

She  did  not  catch  the  deeper  meaning  of  his  words, 


344       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

but  thought  he  was  considering  only  broken  furni 
ture,  and  broken  picture- frames.  "Now  that  we're 
getting  settled  we  are  finding  many  opportunities  for 
you  to  show  your  skill,"  she  laughed.  "Moving! 
Such  destruction!  If  mother  had  once  dreamed  how 
much  damage  would  be  done,  I  don't  believe  she  ever 

would  have   left  Belleville  .  .  .  except "       Her 

face  sobered  and  her  eyes  filled. 

He  caught  this  instantly.  "Now,  no  sorrow,  if 
you  please,  young  lady!"  he  insisted.  "This  is  to 
be  a  happy  evening.  Do  you  suppose  I  came  here  to 
mope  over  .  .  .  well,  you  know  I  am  a  mender.  I 
won't  think  of  anything  that's  broken,  life,  or  bric-a- 
brac,  except  to  study  how  best  to  make  repairs." 

"Some  things " 

"Hush!    Cheerful  is  the  word,  you  know!" 
She  looked  around  the  room,  making  a  brave  effort 
to  shake  off  her  depression.     "Everything  looks  just 
the  same  as  it  did  in  the  old  home,  back  in  Belleville, 
doesn't  it?" 

"Everything,"  he  smiled.     "Except  the  stove." 
"No;  we  couldn't  move  the  stove.     I  am  sorry  it 
was  built  into  the  house.     Sometimes  it  was  grouchy, 
but  it  was  warm-hearted,  after  all." 

"It  sounds  as  if  you  might  be  talking  about  me." 

"No,  Mr.  Repair-man,  just  the  stove."    She  smiled 

fondly  at  him.    "I  said  it  was  warm-hearted  after  all. 

Didn't  you  hear  that?     While  you " 

"Go  on;  make  fun  of  me  ...  but  wait!  When  I 
have  glued  together  everything  in  this  house  which 
has  been  broken  you  will  have  to  treat  me  with  far 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       345 

more  respect.  You'll  have  to  grant  that  I  am  master 
of  my  trade." 

"I  do;  I  do!  It's  so  good  of  you  to  take  such 
trouble  helping  us." 

"My  dear  child,  it's  nothing  to  the  things  you  do 
for  me.  For  instance,  who  but  you  and  your  dear 
mother  would  let  me  bring  a  sick  friend,  here,  for 
dinner,  without  one  word  of  inquiry?  I  simply  call 
up  on  the  telephone,  and  you  all  say  'of  course.'  No 
questions  asked.  That's  something,  isn't  it?" 

He  watched  her  somewhat  apprehensively,  fearful 
of  the  questions  as  to  his  friend's  identity,  which  he 
had  feared  from  the  beginning,  but  had  managed  to 
avoid  by  adroit  management.  But  she  did  not  ask 
them.  Since  the  stranger  was  a  friend  of  his,  then 
he  would  be  welcome.  He  sighed  with  real  relief. 

"We're  only  too  pleased,"  she  assured  him. 
"We're  rather  lonely.  Harry  is  so  much  in  Belleville. 
He  can  only  get  here  once  a  week,  now.  That  fac 
tory!" 

"Buckling  down  to  work  like  a  good  fellow,  eh? 
WeH,  that's  good,  dear.  And  Dorothy  takes  some 
time,  no  doubt." 

She  nodded.  "He'll  soon  be  married,  and  move 
into  our — old  home.  Then  we'll  be  lonely,  really. 
You'll  only  come  for  little  visits." 

"I  shall  come  as  often  as  you'll  let  me." 

"That  will  be  very  often."  She  glanced  up  at 
the  clock.  "But  your  friend  is  late.  Are  you  sure 
he'll  come?" 

"Quite  positive.     He  always  keeps  his  word." 


346       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"It's  pleasant  to  see  people.  We've  seen  so  few 
since  we  came  here.  Yet  I  was  so  glad  to  get  away 
from  Belleville !  I  don't  know  just  how  to  express  it. 
I  felt,  oh,  so " 

"I  know,  Beatrice." 

"And  I  am  sure  the  change  will  do  mother  a  lot 
of  good  .  .  .  away  from  the  .  .  .  old  surroundings 
.  .  .  new  house  .  .  .  'new  atmosphere  .  .  .  new  life!" 
She  went  to  Alston  and  smiled  up  at  him,  very  charm 
ingly,  but  there  was  pathos  in  it,  too.  "It  is  I,  you 
know,  who  now  look  after  things." 

He  beamed  at  her.  "I  know  you  do.  And  what  a 
splendid  little  housewife !  It's  good  practice  for  you, 
Beatrice.  For  it  will  soon  be  your  turn." 

"My  turn?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"To  marry." 

She  smiled  very  sadly.  "No,  Mr.  Alston;  I'm 
afraid  I've  lost  .  .  .  my  faith." 

"Your  faith  in  what,  child?" 

"Oh,  all  mankind." 

He  answered  with  a  very  serious  face.  "You 
lose  faith  too  easily."  He  took  her  hands.  "Bea 
trice,  you  are  very  young.  There  are  many  things  in 
life  which  you  cannot  possibly  understand,  and  there 
fore  should  not  undertake  to  judge." 

"You  mean  .  .  .  my  father?" 

"Yes;  for  a  long  time  I  have  meant  to  speak  to 
you  of  him." 

Her  face  hardened  and  she  turned  her  head  away. 
She  even  tried  to  draw  her  hands  from  his,  but  he 
clung  to  them. 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       347 

"Beatrice,  you  have  not  the  right  to  withdraw  your 
affection  from  him." 

"He  has  forsaken  us,"  she  answered  calmly,  bit 
terly. 

"I  have  told  you  of  his  desire  to  see  you,  but 
you  refused  to  go  to  see  him." 

"Oh,  I  could  not!"  She  spoke  not  in  anger  but 
in  deep  and  touching  sorrow.  "I  .  .  >  could  not 
meet  my  father.  He  seems  .  .  .  like  a  stranger  to 
me.  When  I  came  home  from  the  convent  and  found 
my  mother  so  unhappy  .  .  .  and  the  home  so  deso 
late  .  .  .  and  then  learned  why  .  .  .  oh,  Mr.  Alston, 
can't  you  think?  Father  had  been  the  very  soul 
of  home,  to  me;  the  master  of  it  all;  and  then " 

He  dropped  her  hands,  smiling  with  an  infinite 
sadness.  "I  know.  And  then  how  different  it 
was!" 

She  turned  her  sorrowful  young  eyes  toward  a 
carved  chair  standing  by  the  table.  "When  I  see 
his  chair  .  .  .  always  empty  ...  it  seems  as  if  my 

heart  would  break  .  .  .  but "  She  suddenly 

burst  into  tears,  and,  hiding  her  face  against  the 
lawyer's  friendly  shoulder,  wept  as  if  her  heart 
were,  truly,  breaking. 

"Come,  come,  dear  child.  I  won't  mention  the 
subject  again.  But  we'll  let  my  friend  sit  in  that 
chair,  to-night.  I'm  sure  he  will  enjoy  it.  Wait 
till  he  comes." 

Barbie  entered,  at  the  moment — a  little  thinner, 
possible  a  little  slower  on  her  feet,  but  not  less 
birdlike  in  her  manner.  She  cocked  her  head  at  Al- 


348       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

ston's  speech  as  a  canary  does  who  hears  a  whistle. 
"What?  Who's  coming?"  she  demanded,  worried 
at  the  thought  of  any  guest  for  dinner  when  she  had 
not  been  warned. 

"Just  a  dear  old  friend  of  mine,  Barbie." 

She  was  deeply  interested.    "To  stay  for  dinner?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  said  Beatrice. 

"And  you  must  do  your  best,  Miss  Barbara,"  said 
Alston.  "He's  a  very  particular  gentleman." 

Upon  reflection  she  was  reassured.  "Well,"  she 
said  confidently,  "my  leg  o'  lamb  needn't  be  ashamed ! 
And  I've  got  some  cranberries  that  came  from  Belle 
ville."  She  stood  sadly  gazing  into  space.  "My,  my! 
Whenever  I  cook  cranberries  ...  I  think  of  the  old 
gentleman."  Her  eyes  fell  on  the  chair  and  filled 
with  tears.  "He  was  so  fond  of  cranberries." 

Alston  looked  with  mock  reproach  at  Beatrice,  nor 
did  he  wish  her  to  suppose  that  his  reproach  was 
wholly  counterfeit.  "You  see,  Beatrice?  Barbie's 
heart  remains  true  to  her  Belleville  and  the  'old  gen 
tleman!'  " 

"That's  so,"  said  Barbie.  "For  Mrs.  Hoffman's 
sake  I'm  willing  to  stay  here,  if  it  must  be,  until  the 
end  of  my  days;  but  Mr.  Alston,  when  I  die,  I  want 
to  be  buried  in  Belleville."  Now  she  snuffled  audibly. 
"I  want  to  lay  there  among  friends." 

He  laughed  frankly  at  her.  Then,  pretending  to 
smell  something:  "Barbie,  somethin's  burning!" 

It  took  her  mind  from  other  troubles,  as  he  had 
known  it  would. 

"Great  heavens!"  she  cried,  and  vanished,  crying: 
"It's  my  leg  o'  lamb.  My  leg  o'  lamb!" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       349 

Alston  looked  after  her  and  laughed.  He  had  been 
glad  the  ancient  servant  had  said  what  she  had  about 
her  old  employer.  He  was  still  smiling  when  he 
helped  Beatrice  complete  the  setting  of  the  table, 
himself  bearing  first  a  bottle  of  claret,  then  a  vase  of 
flowers  to  their  places.  Alston's  heart  was  warming 
with  the  passage  of  each  moment.  He  had  called 
himself  past  master  of  the  trade  of  mending  broken 
things.  He  had  undertaken  a  great  task — the  task 
of  mending  divers  broken  lives.  Could  he  succeed 
with  them  as  he  had  with  picture- frames  and  vases? 

"Flowers  on  the  table,"  he  remarked,  as  he  placed 
them  in  position.  "That  means  'Welcome.'  And 
this  claret — the  same  good  old  Nineteen- f our !  Fine! 
We're  going  to  have  a  jolly  evening,  Beatrice." 

"A  jolly  evening?"  said  the  girl.  "I've  almost 
forgotten  how  a  jolly  evening  seems.  Not  since  the 
old  days " 

Laden  with  extra  silver  he  hurried  from  the  side 
board  to  the  table.  "Silver,  plenty  of  it.  It  gives 
tone!"  he  hastily  remarked. 

"We'll  all  try  to  make  it  pleasant  for  your  friend," 
said  she.  "Shall  I  play  for  him?" 

Alston  stopped  dead  in  his  tracks.  "No,"  he 
mused.  "Don't  play.  I  don't  believe  .  .  .  he'd 
care  for  it."  His  mind  reverted  to  Sevigny  and 
the  musical  days  in  that  New  York  apartment.  "He 
has  been  played  for  .  .  .  enough,"  he  finished 
with  some  emphasis  and  a  queer  smile. 

"Is  he  so  nervous?"  Beatrice  was  plainly  dis 
appointed. 

"Worse  than  that,"  said  Alston,  taking  full  ad- 


350       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

vantage  of  the  opportunity  to  warn  her.  "He's  al 
most  afraid  of  people.  I  wish  .  .  .  that  when 
he  comes  .  .  .  you  would  receive  him  .  .  . 
first.  He'd  like  that,  I  am  sure." 

"Really?  How  queer!  But  of  course  we  can  ar 
range  it.  And  when  mother  comes,  why,  we'll  al 
ready  be  good  friends." 

"Ah,"  said  Alston,    feigning  jealousy,  "he'll  win 
you  away  from  me!" 
She  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  I'll  go  and  get  him  and  bring  him  here 
at  once.  I  shall  bring  him  through  the  garden  door. 
It  will  save  us  fifty  yards  of  walking.  Remember, 
you're  to  meet  us,  quite  alone." 

She  did  not  understand  exactly,  but  smiled,  humor 
ing  this  dear  old  friend. 

"And  please  be  very  kind  and  good  to  him,"  he 
added  wistfully.     "He's  the  best  friend  I  have." 
"Of  course,  Mr.  Alston." 
"I  shall  be  back  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes." 
"I'll  be  watching  for  you,"  she  assured  him  as  he 
hurried  out. 

"Miss  Beatrice,"  said  Barbie,  entering  with  bread 
and  sundries,  "who  do  you  suppose  this  friend  of 
Mr.  Alston's  is?     I'll  bet  it's  only  Mr.  Harry." 
"Oh,  no;  I  don't  think  he's  joking     .     .     .     quite; 

but  he  did  seem  a  little  strange.    I  wonder " 

Harry  himself  burst  in  upon  them  at  the  moment 
and  caught  his  sister  in  his  arms  as  soon  as  he 
had  dropped  a  suit-case. 

"Oh,  Harry!    You're  back  a  day  ahead  of  time!" 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       351 

"Yes;  Mr.  Alston  wired  me,  asking  me  to  hurry 
home  if  it  was  possible."  He  turned  to  Barbie. 
"Hello,  Barbie!" 

"Hello,  Mr.  Harry.  How  are  things  in  Belle 
ville?"  She  always  asked  that  question  with  a  wist 
ful  little  air.  She  was  pitifully  homesick. 

"The  whole  village  sends  regards  to  you." 

"Really?  Oh,  Mr.  Harry,  tell  me  all  about  it 
later,  won't  you?  I've  got  to  look  after  the  dinner 
now.  But — one  thing.  Did  you  see  our  dog?  The 
one  we  gave  to  Mrs.  Stevenson?" 

"Prince?  Of  course."  He  laughed.  "He  told  me 
to  tell  you  that  he  is  going  to  write  to  you." 

"Oh,  now,"  she  said  reproachfully,  "you're  mak 
ing  fun  of  me!" 

"Where's   mother?"   said  the  laughing  youth. 

"Upstairs.  She's  been  lying  down.  She  tires  so 
easily!" 

"I'm  going  to  find  her." 

But  he  did  not,  for  Anna,  hearing  him,  came  down 
just  then.  "My  own  big  boy!"  she  cried,  and  caught 
him  in  her  arms. 

As  soon  as  these  delighted  greetings  ended,  Harry, 
having  freed  himself  of  all  impediments,  looked  at 
the  unusually  elaborate  table.  "But  you  are  all  fixed 
up?" 

"Mr.  Alston's  bringing  someone  here  for  dinner." 

"Good  old  Mr.  Alston!"  He  turned  to  his  mother 
brightly.  "Dorothy  is  coming  over,  dear,  to-morrow. 
I'm  to  stay  until  she  comes.  Valentine  has  promised 
to  look  after  things.  And  in  the  afternoon  the 


852       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

Senator  is  coming  with  his  car  to  take  us  in  to 
Buffalo.  She  wants  to  do  some — shopping."  He 
blushed  furiously.  He  always  did  when  conversa 
tion  led  them  toward  his  coming  marriage.  "Beatrice, 
will  you  go  with  her?  She  told  me  to  ask  you." 

"I'd  love  to.  Harry,  did  you  know  that  some 
things  from  her  trousseau  are  in  the  window  at  Mc- 
Cutcheon's?  I  saw  them  there.  Magnificent!  One 
wrapper  .  .  .  oh,  what  laces!" 

Anna  looked  at  him  and  smiled.  "I'm  glad  you  are 
so  happy,  Harry." 

"Mother,  dear,  I'm  very  happy!" 

She  sighed,  and  sighing,  smiled.  "At  last  .  .  . 
some  joy  again!" 

"Mother,"  said  Harry  very  soberly,  "I'm  going  to 
tell  you.  I'd  thought  perhaps  I  wouldn't.  But 
.  .  .  I  received  a  letter  at  the  works  a  week  or 
two  ago  from  .  .  .  father.  He  sent  me  con 
gratulations  and  his  ...  blessing,  mother." 

"Where  was  he  ...  Harry?"  Anna's  voice 
was  faint  and  tremulous. 

"Still  ill  in  the  sanitarium." 

Anna  shrank  involuntarily,  but  tried  to  hoid  her 
self-control. 

"Mother,  dear,"  the  boy  continued  carefully,  "did 
you  know  that  for  a  time  his  life  was  really  despaired 
of?  Mr.  Alston  told  me  of  it.  He  has  .  .  .  . 
gone  through  a  good  deal." 

"Why,"  said  Beatrice,  alarmed,  "he  never  told  me 
that!  And  we  were  talking,  too,  about  his  sickness. 
But  that  he " 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       358 

"Where  is  Mr.  Alston?"  Anna  asked.  "I  thought 
I  heard  his  voice  here." 

"Don't  you  remember?  He's  bringing  someone 
here  to  dine  with  us.  He's  gone  to  get  him  at  the 
train,  or  the  hotel.  He'll  be  back  before  long,  dear." 

"Then  I've  got  to  make  myself  presentable,"  said 
Harry.  "Come  on,  mother."  He  caught  her  arm. 
"Come  talk  to  me  while  I  shave  and  things." 

"I'll  bring  the  suit-case,  Harry,"  Beatrice  declared, 
and,  although  he  tried  to  take  it  from  her,  held  it 
behind  her  and  insisted.  He  yielded  and  they  dis 
appeared  together. 

A  moment  later  Alston  entered  softly,  almost  fur 
tively,  and  after  an  instant's  hesitation,  sure  that  all 
was  clear,  hurried  back  to  the  side  door  and  ushered 
Frederick  Hoffman  in.  The  "mender"  was  at  work 
upon  an  effort  more  important  than  any  broken  pic 
ture-frame  had  ever  called  for. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Careful  to  make  little  noise  and  quite  as  careful 
to  conceal  from  him  who  followed  him  that  he  was 
exercising  care,  the  lawyer  turned  back  when  he 
found  the  room  was  empty,  and  led  in  from  the 
door  a  bent  and  broken  man,  upon  whose  face  the 
marks  of  long  and  wasting  illness  were  apparent,  in 
whose  feeble  step  the  tale  of  weary  weakness  was 
very  plainly  told. 

"Come  right  in,  Fred,"  Alston  urged,  after  mak 
ing  certain  that  the  lights  were  low. 

"Alston,  are  you  sure  it's  right  for  you  to  bring 
me,  worn  out,  half  sick  as  I  am,  to  visit  strangers? 
Of  course,  it's  kind,  but " 

"Of  course  it's  all  right,  Fred."  Alston  led  him 
to  the  fireplace  and  took  his  coat  and  hat,  meanwhile 
glancing  about  the  room,  and  as  he  crossed  it  to  lay 
the  garments  down,  turning  the  gas  above  the  table 
still  a  little  lower.  He  did  not  wish  to  have  the 
situation  burst  too  suddenly  upon  the  sick  man. 
"They're  dear  friends  of  mine.  I'm  quite  at  home 
here,  and — I  hope  you'll  soon  be  the  same." 

"But  this  is  their  dining-room!  Their  table  is  all 
set  for  dinner!" 

"The  side  door  was  easier.  I  often  use  it.  High 
steps  at  the  front.  That's  why  I  brought  you  right 

354 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       355 

in  here.  And  they  are  expecting  us  for  dinner.  I 
told  them  we  would  dine  with  them.  And,  Fred, 
they've  got  a  cook  here — well!  Just  like  Barbie, 
Fred!" 

The  situation  worried  Hoffman.  He  had  been  so 
long  in  solitude,  the  prey  of  his  remorse,  the  victim 
of  emotion,  that  he  dreaded  meeting  anyone.  To 
be  thrust  thus  intimately  into  a  strange  family  circle 
shocked  him.  He  suspected  nothing  of  the  plot  the 
lawyer  had  been  planning,  but  the  situation  worried 
him. 

"Alston,  I'm  not  well  enough.  I  didn't  understand 
you,  quite.  I  had  no  idea  ...  if  you  want  to 
introduce  me  to  your  friends,  why,  well  and  good. 
I  shall  be  glad  to  meet  them.  But  to  intrude  at 
dinner,  shaken  as  I  am 

"Alston,  after  you  have  introduced  me,  you  must 
let  me  go  away.  They'll  know  me  then  and  can  in 
vite  me  for  another  time  if  they  still  wish  to.  To 
morrow  ...  we  must  drive  to  Belleville  in  a 
closed  carriage.  No  one  must  know  that  I  am  there 
•+..  .  .  but  I  want  to  see  the  old  place  once  again. 
And  then  I'll  go  away  somewhere.  Alston,  it  makes 
me  very  nervous  to  be  even  here  in  this  part  of  the 
state.  I " 

"Nonsense,  Fred.  You're  to  dine  here,  spend  the 
evening  here.  You've  moped  enough.  My  friends 
are  yours,  you  know.  You'll  like  them.  A  little 
change  will  do  you  good.  It's  been  a  long  time, 
Fred,  since  you've  seen  the  inside  of  a  real  home." 

"God!     How  long!"     The  weak  and  weary  man 


356       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

raised  both  his  hands  in  a  despairing  gesture.  "It 
seems  like  a  horrible  dream,  old  man!" 

Alston  nodded.     "It's  been  bitter,  but " 

"What  could  I  have  done  without  you,  Alston? 
You've  taught  me  what  a  true  friend  can  be!" 

"Good!  I've  tried  to.  This  is  part  of  it.  Cheer 
up!  I  want  you  to  be  happy  here  to-night.  Doesn't 
it  all  breathe  of  peace  and  rest." 

"Yes,  yes;  and  I  need  rest." 

"Isn't  it  comfortable  and  homelike?"  He  turned 
up  the  gas  a  little.  "Come,  Fred — look  around 
you." 

As  he  did  so  Alston  slowly  turned  the  light  full 
on.  Frederick  Hoffman  looked  about  the  room,  and 
then  weakly  caught  a  chair-back,  steadying  himself. 
He  saw  the  old,  familiar  silver  on  the  table,  the  very 
chair  on  which  he  leaned  had  been,  for  years,  his 
chair  at  his  own  table.  His  frightened  eyes  swept 
to  the  pictures  on  the  wall. 

"I  ...  she,"  he  stammered,  "and  the  ...•.„> 
children!  Alston,  where  am  I?" 

"At  .  *  .  home,"  said  Alston  softly,  and 
caught  his  arm  and  held  him  as  he  clung  to  his  old 
chair. 

"My  .  .  .  old  chair!"  said  Hoffman  brokenly, 
stroking  its  carved  back  as  if  it  might  have  been  a 
human  face. 

"Yes;  it's  your  old  chair  .  .  .  where  you  be 
long,  Fred." 

"Alston,  my  dear  friend,  you  did " 

"I     did     it     rather    nicely,     eh?"     said     Alston, 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       357 

trying  to  laugh,  but  having  trouble  with  insistent 
tears. 

Hoffman  pulled  himself  together  tremulously. 
"You  meant  well,  old  man,  but  it  can't  be!" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Fred.     Why  not?" 

"I  should  die    ...     of  shame!" 

"No,  Fred;  there's  nothing  shameful  in  setting  a 
wrong  right." 

"I  could  never  ask  her  to  forgive." 

"Fred,  Anna  has  suffered,  but  I've  never  heard 
her  speak  one  word  of  bitterness  nor  of  reproach  of 
you.  I'm  sure  that  when  she  prays  at  night  she 
always  mentions  .  .  .  you." 

The  man  was  deeply  moved.  "It  is  the  glory  of 
womanhood,"  said  he,  "that  no  matter  how  sinful 
a  man's  life  may  have  been,  there  is  always  some 
good  woman  like — like  Anna  to  lift  her  voice  in 
prayer  for  him.  But  her  wounds  must  be  too  deep 
to  heal.  Alston,  it  cannot  be.  I  cannot  stay."  He 
started  toward  the  door. 

Beatrice,  remembering  her  promise  to  the  lawyer, 
came  hurrying  down  from  Harry's  room,  where 
gossip  of  the  coming  wedding  had  almost  made  her 
forget.  Alston  heard  her  laugh  upon  the  stairs. 

"  Wait,  Fred !     Your  daughter ! " 

The  man's  steps  were  halted.  He  stood  as  if  en 
tranced.  Now  he  longed  to  see  his  daughter! 
"Beatrice!" 

"She  doesn't  know  you're  here.  Don't  you  want 
to  see  her,  even  if  she  doesn't  know  it  and  you  go 
at  once?" 


358       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

"Oh,  how  I  want  to!" 

"Then,  if  you  won't  stay,  at  least  slip  there  be 
hind  the  portieres  at  the  door  and  have  a  glimpse  of 
her.  Fred,  it  will  warm  your  heart.  Quick!"  He 
hid  him. 

"Alone?"  said  Beatrice,  entering  and  seeing  only 
Alston. 

"Well " 

"But  where's  your  friend?     Our  guest?" 

"I  think  he'll  soon  be  here." 

"I'm  so  glad."  The  girl's  smile  was  very  sweet 
as  the  hungry  eyes  of  the  concealed  man  watched  it. 
"Poor  man!  He  has  been  ill.  It  makes  me  eager 
to  see  him.  Queer,  isn't  it,  how  women  love  to  have 
someone  around  for  them  to  fuss  over." 

"Don't  worry,  Beatrice;  there  will  be  plenty  to 
fuss  over — soon!" 

"Mother's  like  that,  too,"  the  girl  went  on  reflec 
tively. 

"Of  course.  She  became  accustomed  to  it  .  .  . 
with  your  father." 

She  nodded  sadly.  "Did  you  know  Harry  had 
got  home  ?  He  came  while  you  were  gone.  It  seems 
so  good  to  see  him?  He  is  away  so  much." 

"Splendid!  Then  we'll  all  be  here  together,  just 
as  we  used  to  be  in  Belleville." 

She  sighed.  "Yes  .  .  .  all  .  •. ,  .  except 
my  father.  Tell  me,  has  he  been  so  very  ill?" 

"Yes,  very." 

"And  we  did  not  know  it!    And  now,  is  he " 

"Now  he  is  slowly  recovering." 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       359 

"Ah,  I  am  so  glad!  Mr.  Alston,  I  thank  God  for 
that!" 

Alston  took  the  girl's  white  hands.  He  wondered 
if  he  might  not  use  the  mood  which  she  was  in  as  a 
medium  through  which  to  carry  courage  to  the  sick 
and  sorry  soul  behind  the  curtain. 

"Beatrice,  do  you  remember  when  your  father  was 
so  ill  years  ago?  You  were  a  little  girl  then,  but 
every  evening  you  prayed  for  him.  It  was  such  a 
sweet  little  prayer!  I  wonder  if  you  still  remember 
it!"  %' 

"A  prayer?" 

"Yes,  two  little  lines.  How  he  used  to  love  to 
hear  you  say  them.  Can't  you  remember?" 

"Ah,  yes!  'Almighty  God,  I  pray  to  Thee,  Make 
my  papa  well  for  me!'  Is  that  the  prayer  you  mean?" 

It  was  too  much  for  Frederick  Hoffman.  His 
self-control  could  hold  him  in  concealment  not  an 
instant  longer.  He  strode  forward,  very  weakly, 
with  his  hands  stretched  toward  her. 

"Father!     Oh,  my  father!"  the  girl  cried. 

"Beatrice!     My  own  sweet  girl!" 

Alston  turned  away. 

"My  poor  father!"  said  the  much  affected  girl. 
She  looked  up  at  his  face.  "But  how  white  your  hair 
is!  And  your  dear  face — oh,  father!" 

"My  dear  daughter!"  Frederick  Hoffman's  voice 
was  full  of  tears. 

"And  just  think  of  it!  Barbie,  your  old  Barbie — > 
she's  still  with  us.  And  how  glad  she  will  be!"  The 
excited  girl  could  not  think  consecutively;  she  was  in 


360       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

a  flutter  of  delight,  of  sympathy,  or  nervousness.  She 
showed  him  the  picture  frame  which  Alston  had  re 
paired.  "You  can't  notice  it,  can  you?" 
:,  She  was  fighting,  as  she  talked  with  desperate  in- 
consequentiality,  for  far  more  than  her  own  self- 
control.  She  could  see  her  father  tremble.  Her 
father,  whom  she  had  believed  to  be  the  strongest  of 
all  men,  her  father  whom  she  had  begun  to  think 
was  heartless,  her  father  who  had  gone  away  from 
them,  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

Distraught,  she  took  a  flower  from  the  bouquet 
on  the  table  and  slipped  its  stem  through  one  of  his 
lapel  buttonholes.  But  she  could  not  save  him  from 
the  breakdown  which  she  had  known  was  coming. 
The  tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

"Father  .  .  .  please  don't!"  she  said  softly. 
"Father,  dear,  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart!" 

With  a  tremendous  effort  he  fought  back  his  emo 
tion.  "My  child,  I  have  prayed  to  die,  but  now  I 
thank  God  that  He  let  me  live  to  hold  you  in  my 
arms,  to  hear  you  tell  me  that  you  still  love  me." 
He  took  her  flower-like  face  between  his  hands  and 
held  it  thus,  looking  earnestly  at  it.  "How  like  your 
mother  when  I  first  knew  her!  May  you  be 
like  her,  my  child !  It  is  the  best  wish  I  can  have  for 
you." 

Alston  had  slipped  away,  found  Anna  and  now 
led  her,  wondering,  into  the  dining-room.  Beatrice 
caught  sight  of  her  before  her  mother  saw  who  really 
was  there.  With  a  protective  gesture  which  quite 
overwhelmed  the  miserable  man,  she  threw  her  arm 


THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE       361 

across  her  father's  breast  as  if  to  fend  all  criticism 
from  him. 

When  Anna  saw  who  waited,  she  staggered  back 
a  step  or  two,  and  then,  steadied  by  a  hand  upon  the 
sideboard  and  the  other  stretched  unconsciously  to 
Alston,  she  stood  gazing,  startled,  speechless. 

"Mother  .  .  .  please!"  begged  Beatrice.  She 
went  to  her  and  pleaded  with  imploring  eyes. 
"Please!" 

Anna  did  not  look  at  her,  but  made  a  gesture, 
reassuring  her,  and  on  her  face  a  faint,  sweet  smile 
appeared. 

"Come,  Beatrice,"  said  Alston,  and  led  the  girl 
away. 

Frederick  Hoffman  stood  at  first  with  a  bowed 
head,  finding  strength  to  give  the  mother  of  his  chil 
dren  one  glance  only.  Then,  as  she  did  not  speak, 
he  turned  as  if  to  go,  as  if  accepting  his  dismissal. 

"Fred!"  said  she,  arresting  him. 

He  stopped  and  turned  toward  her,  but  could  not 
lift  his  eyes  to  meet  her  gaze.  When  he  spoke  his 
voice  was  tremulous;  his  attitude  showed  the  sad 
weakness  of  his  emaciated  frame. 

"Anna,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  had  no  idea  when  I 
came  here  ...  no  idea.  Alston  did  all  this 
.  .  .  with  good  intentions,  of  course,  but  .  .  . 
Anna,  I  don't  know  whether  you  could " 

He  stood  there  trembling,  his  lips  quivering,  unable 
to  say  more,  but  she  made  no  sign  and  gradually  he 
gathered  strength  again. 

"Anna,"  he  said  slowly,  "you  see  me  now,  before 


362       THE    MASTER    OF    THE    HOUSE 

you,  in  the  saddest  moment  of  my  life.  I  never 
should  have  come,  but  Alston  .  .  .  still,  now 
that  I  am  here,  I  want  to  say  to  you  one  thing 
.  .  „  perhaps  the  last  that  I  shall  ever  say  to  you. 
Great  is  the  wrong  that  I  have  done  you,  Anna,  but 
great  has  been  my  punishment.  Endless  hours  of 
deep  remorse  and  shame  have  tortured  me.  I  ->  .  . 
ah,  as  I  forsook  you,  Anna,  so  has  God  forsaken 
me!  .  .  .  That  is  all  that  I  can  say  to  you. 
.  .  .  Good-by!" 

A  second  more  she  stood  there  speechless,  motion 
less,  but  as  he  slowly  turned  to  go  she  stepped  toward 
him  and  took  his  hand. 

"Fred,  don't  go.  We  still  have  something  we  can 
live  for — our  dear  children.  Let  us  try  to  help  them 
find  the  happiness  which  we,  ourselves,  have  searched 
for  and  have  missed.  Perhaps  a  ray  of  it  will  fall 
then  on  the  evening  of  our  lives." 

The  stricken  man  advanced  and  slowly  raised  her 
white  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it.  As  he  tried  to 
straighten  afterward  he  tottered,  and,  had  she  not 
caught  him,  would  have  fallen.  It  was  the  arm  of 
Anna,  the  deserted  wife,  that  gave  him  strength  to 
reach  his  old  armchair. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  looking  at  him  with  an 
infinite  compassion.  Then,  going  to  the  door,  she 
called  to  Beatrice. 

The  young  folk  rushed  in  together  and  the  four 
members  of  the  family  thus  stood  reunited. 

Alston,  smiling,  went  to  the  kitchen  door.  "Barbie," 
he  cried,  "bring  on  your  leg  of  lamb." 


THE   MASTER    OF   THE   HOUSE       363 

"Yes,   sir,"  she  answered   promptly. 

"I  deserve  my  dinner,"  he  said  gravely. 

She  came  in  with  a  salver  piled  with  smoking 
dishes.  "And  you're  going  to  have  it,  Mr.  Alston." 

Then  she  saw  who  sat  there  at  the  table,  and 
without  a  word,  without  even  looking  at  him,  thrust 
the  heavy-laden  tray  into  the  lawyer's  startled  hands. 

"It's  Mr.  Hoffman!"  The  old  servant's  voice  was  a 
mere  wavering  cry.  "It's  the  old  gentleman!  Oh, 
Mr.  Hoffman!  Mr.  Hoffman!"  She  fell  kneeling 
at  his  feet. 

Harry  was  the  last  to  enter.  "Father!  Father!" 
he  cried  joyfully. 

"My  boy!"  said  Frederick  Hoffman  as  the  tears, 
unheeded,  rolled  down  his  flushed  and  sunken  cheeks. 


THE  END 


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John   Marsh's   Millions  6th  Large  Edition 

The  struggle  of  a  young  girl,  heiress)  to  millions. 
"Has  many  thrilling  dramatic  situations." — St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch. 

The  Third  Degree  ?oth  Thousand 

A  brilliant  novelization  of  Charles  Klein's  great  play. 

"A  strongly-painted  picture  of  certain  conditions  in  the  administration  of  law  and 
justice."  — Philadelphia  Record. 

By  Right  of  Conquest  tooth  Thousand 

A  thrilling  story  of  shipwreck  upon  a  deserted  island. 

"A  sensational  situation  handled  with  delicacy  and  vigor." — Boston  Transcript. 

The  End  of  the  Game  75th  Thousand 

A  love  story  dealing  with  the  perils  of  great  wealth. 
"A  thoroughly  wholesome  book,  with  action  in  the  drama  and  real  human  interest" 

— Literaru  Digest. 

The  Profligate  eoth  Thousand 

A  thrilling  story  of  lore,  mystery  and  adventure. 

"The  moral  tone  of  the  story  k  excellent."  — BoAfmore  Sun. 

The  Lion  and  the  Mouse  200th  Thousand 

A  brilliant  novelization  of  Charles  Klein's  wonderful  play. 
"As  fascinating  as  Mi.  Klein  s  play." — Boston  Transcript. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-32m-8,'57(.C8680s4)444 


Marshall  - 


3525   The  master  of 
M353m  the  house 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  929  365     5 


PS 

3525 
M353m 


PCPULA 
EDITION 


